


Prelude

by Littlemaru



Series: Nightshade [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Angst, Brotherhood, Eventual Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Injured Ignis, M/M, Major Character Injury, Protective Gladio, Secrets, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking, Unrequited Love, Virginity, Young Ignis, young gladio
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 01:33:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11265198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlemaru/pseuds/Littlemaru
Summary: The sound of the Amicitia boy's name heard in passing, often in council or in training, was enough to distract the advisor from his well trained thoughts and self control. The sight of him, his strong build and warm eyes made him feel weak. Emotions he believed, not fitting of the prince's royal advisor.The crown came first, there was no doubt about it for the young man - this was his life-bound duty - yet he fought endlessly with himself.Prologue to Amongst Thorns and Thistles.





	1. Chapter 1

  
Ignis Scientia had a secret.

As with any seventeen year old, he had an array of secrets and insecurities, most of which concerned very few amongst the tiny circle of friends he held. As a young, royal advisor however he held the secrets of others, issues of national security bound to himself and the royal council. The former paled in significance to the latter, and yet the former held considerable ownership over him. He had a duty to the crown to be responsible, trustworthy, _proper_. Such secrets were indecent to say the least. At least for the majority, indecent or otherwise he could share a few with the prince: a boy he trusted completely without question.  
But this particular secret however, one that chased and irritated relentlessly, he would not share - with anyone.

It was not that he couldn't trust the prince to keep his secret, nor was it that he feared repercussions from a higher authority.

This secret, as he had convinced himself, was utterly shameful, abhorrent even. The young advisor kept it buried away, like a dreadful thorn stuck in his side. At times he wondered how long such a thorn had been there, festering away, day in and day out. For the length of time he had known Gladiolus Amicitia, he assumed it had been there for many years.

The sound of the Amicitia boy's name heard in passing, often in council or in training, was enough to distract the advisor from his well trained thoughts and self control. The sight of him, his strong build and warm eyes made him feel weak. Emotions he believed, not fitting of the prince's royal advisor. It had been difficult for several years, a severe and endless test of wills.  
The crown came first, there was no doubt about it for the young man - this was his life-bound duty - yet he fought endlessly with himself.

He remembered the first time he saw Gladiolus fight, in training with his father, perhaps no older than twelve or thirteen. Barely an advisor at all but a precocious, gawky child, Ignis had been fascinated by the slightly older, slightly taller shield, unable to watch a single other person in the room. Looking back on the occasion, he was sure someone had noticed. Gladiolus at least, had always avoided the younger stare of green eyes, following him relentlessly with each and every movement. It was a little thing really, but of course, said little things added up. The advisor often wondered if he had made the older boy uncomfortable at the time, having a younger boy stare so frequently in awe. _It was hard not to, of course_ , particularly becoming the case as the pair grew older. Even as a child, Gladio had been tremendously strong, talented, in ways the advisor knew he could not compete. As he became a young man, he only grew stronger, more determined, substantially more difficult to match in training even by his own father. Clarus had pushed him hard. The Amicitia boy rarely, if ever, let him down.

As the years progressed, the advisor himself came to face the shield time and time again, in passing of course, their roles to Noctis becoming increasingly parallel with growing responsibility. With time he came to experience a sort of, professional, working friendship with the shield. They shared several hobbies and interests - Gladiolus had a love of reading - something Ignis had noticed the few times he had seen the shield in the citadel library.  
Whilst their select genres in reading differed, it had paved the way for some sort of conversation between the two young men on a shared evening in the citadel library. For a while, their shared time together became a near daily occurrence. Whilst he was sure it meant little to the young shield, it had meant a great deal to the young advisor. Ignis hoped, as he so often did, that he was considered a sort of friend. He was not certain however. Gladio was and always had been remarkably popular.  
In passing, and at times in conversation, he had spoken of numerous friends, countless parties and camping trips beyond the city wall. Ignis had always listened graciously, if of course the conversation had been directed at him. It was at times difficult to discuss things he had minimal experience of - yet he would always smile in return, regardless. He couldn't help it.  
His attraction for the older boy had grown immensely, _horribly_ , far beyond his measure of control. It worsened with each passing year that the shield grew older, and more terribly handsome.  
Ignis struggled, particularly, when the shield became popular with women.

  
The few evenings a week Gladio once would've spent in the library, soon became one evening, perhaps every other week.  
The sudden change came to be quite the challenge, the little flicker of friendship the advisor held onto so dearly with the shield had seemingly extinguished by the time the pair reached their sixteenth and seventeenth birthday.  
The shield, as striking as he was, had a different girl under his arm every weekend. When he wasn't in training, he seemed to be invited to every party in the city, girl in tow.

The advisor always remained rather uninvited. He spent his occasional free nights alone in the library, reading something, anything to occupy his mind, or of course, taking care of a particular demanding fifteen year old. He would often find himself deep cleaning the princes chambers, cooking extensively for him, entertaining him into the late hours of the night. At times, he was sure Noct felt smothered by his own advisor. The boy had mentioned a thing or two.

To an extent the advisor realised early on he was using the prince as a crutch, a sort of temporary quick fix for loneliness. He would do anything he could to please the prince, just to take the edge off how he felt. The need to please had always been relentless. It only worsened with time.  
His uncle, a minor father figure in his life and a man who Ignis had always tried to please, fared increasingly absent on long assignments away from the citadel, sometimes for months at a time. It went without mention that Ignis's parents were several years dead. Such were things beyond his control, _past issues_ , things he shouldn't dwell on - that he knew well. Yet the present time was little better than the past when He realised the person he had feelings for had outgrown him.  
As his seventeenth year loomed, he was sure he had never felt quite so isolated in all his short life.

It was understandable, Ignis had thought so often, _what did he possibly have to offer another human being_? He was bound to the crown indefinitely, with no room for anything else. He tried desperately to forget how he felt; for a short while he thought he was succeeding.

Until of course, on a ridiculously warm evening in summer, the specific date of which he could not remember.  
The young advisor had been seventeen for just a few months. That he knew for certain. Perhaps, of course, it had been earlier than this initial date, not that it had mattered to him. What truly mattered was that he had fallen hard for a man, an older man of high status. In all his short life, he had never felt so utterly caught up in something so trivial as an attraction. Quite frankly he had never been very good at understanding his feelings or emotions - _they were unprofessional, inappropriate_ \- parts of himself he would rather keep contained. All conflicting thought he banished into a small, shameful corner in his mind. However this one occasion had hit him with the force of an angry Behemoth. It was stifling.

As mentioned, it had been warm. Worse so, for the advisor, head to toe in layers of stuffy formality. Even his polished leather shoes had formed a minor irritation, hot and uncomfortable. He struggled onward.  
The night sky glowed pink with the threat of dusk, the streetlights of Insomnia beginning to twinkle in the darkness. It was a weekend to be held in upmost regard - the days had been long and uncharacteristically warm - most citizens of the city were out and about enjoying themselves long into the evening.

So often the young advisor found himself wandering to the citadel library at this time, his presence now at seventeen no longer so required by the prince in the droves it once had been on a weekend. Noct too, after all, was growing up. He'd begun spending an increasing amount of time with a skinny blonde from school, in tow with a camera and some video game Ignis had never heard of.  
Naturally, Ignis assumed, he could not compete. He pretended he didn't care.

A little overdressed for such a humid evening, he found himself at the grand door to the citadel library. It was locked up, dark inside beside emergency lighting. As a regular to the library he had the key code to the entrance, given to him by the librarian who took pity on the young man who spent many a weekend in the facility by himself. Tonight was no different.

Once inside he closed the door behind him as quietly as he could, sighing with relief at the cool, dark air. A bead of sweat dropped down his forehead. He regretted the waistcoat he so often wore, as he always did in summer. His accelerated position in the royal council called for him to dress in such a manner, older and much more formal than his seventeen years, in all weather. With a sigh he wiped a layer of sweat from under the hair that covered his forehead. At least, he thought, in the library he may cool down...

Leaving the summer heat at the entrance, he made his way to the cooking section, following the green haze of the emergency lighting. From memory he made his way through the near darkness, through the maze of tall hallways and towering bookcases, his shoes padding near-silently on the carpeted floors.

It didn't take him long to find what he came for.  
Ignis had been searching for a particular book - _Altissian sweet treats and pastries_ \- for Noct's benefit rather than his own.  
It was an old book; his mother had owned a copy herself when she had been alive to take care of him as a child. This particular version was a little worse for wear, the spine deeply creased and the cover overtly dusty, yet it's contents of traditional Altissian recipes still perfectly in tact.

Ignis carried it over to the main desk in the central area, silently abandoned in the evening darkness. He took a moment to find a pen and some paper to make a quick note of what he had borrowed. As usual, he left the note under a glass paperweight for the librarian. He had done this many a time. Signing off with his name, the date and the time from his watch, he placed the old book carefully under his arm and wandered silently back the way he came.

He had finally started to cool down, his hair no longer quite sticking to his forehead. His eyes however, were taking their time to adjust to the darkness, as they usually did. The emergency lighting worked its magic at least and he followed it back the way he had come.

This time however, the route in which he took into the library did not feel in quite the same lonely yet comforting manner as which he had entered. Something creaked, shifted even.

He felt a strange shiver tingle down his spine, warning. The young advisor stopped silently in his tracks. Despite the heat, he shivered.

He paused for a moment, eyes still not fully adjusted to the near-darkness. His sight had always let him down in darkened conditions: not that he had expected to be interrupted. This had never happened before.

Using his free hand, he pushed his glasses a little further up the bridge of his nose, nervous and concerned. The floorboards creaked several metres away behind a row of bookcases.

The young advisor held his breath, frozen to the spot.  
He listened.

He heard the sound of a woman, breathless, shaken, and a man.

He felt afraid, his skin shivering in the cooler air, just for a moment.

_Have I been followed?_

With little thought he cowered against the bookcase beside him in the hallway, listening carefully to the continued creak of floorboards and whispers. In his naivety, he assumed the worst, at the ready to summon his daggers. In the darkness he felt a little helpless, blind even.

The young advisor trembled.

The sound of cursing came from behind the bookcase he stood beside.

As he peered around the edge of the bookcase, his eyes nervously followed the sound of the intruders he believed to be hiding in the darkness.  
What he saw however, was quite different.

In amongst the bookcases of the Historic section, a slightly dusty, crowded study area with an old oak table, he caught sight of a female silhouette.

Ignis froze.

In the darkness it was too difficult to make out any fine detail. She however, was not alone, straddling the lap of a much larger, darker individual.

Despite the adrenaline urging him to leave quickly, the young advisor did not. He assumed he was frightened, naively terrified of who they were and why there were in the library in the dark with him. Out of pure fear, his eyes began to adjust to the darkness, adrenaline fighting his corner, if only to help. It only took a moment of watching, listening nervously to realise that the man he encountered was Gladiolus Amicitia.

Ignis swallowed, a shift in the pit of his stomach churning and twisting uncomfortably. He felt, weird, sick even. Fight or flight urged him to go, before it was too late.  
Yet, he couldn't turn away.  
The young advisor stared helplessly.

His eyes crawled over the pair as they undressed one another, kissing desperately, fumbling clumsily with one another. Strong, masculine arms grasped the smaller, female form, desperate and in control. The shield stripped of his shirt revealed his powerful upper body, marked only by the beginnings of a tattoo that had yet to be completed.

Ignis closed his eyes momentarily, head turned towards the floor.  
He fought with the impulse to run, scared, _terrified_ to be heard and caught by the older man he knew so well as the shield, taller and much, much stronger than himself. If he were to be seen, he presumed, it would not end well. Ignis could take a punch - he had many a time - but not from anyone quite like the prince's shield. The thought of it made his blood run cold. He felt his knuckles whiten and strain as he gripped the book beneath his arm, biting his lower lip nervously.

Any attempt to turn away from the scene as it played before him continually failed. He watched the older man, defined arms lifting his female partner off his lap and onto the table, a sight which stirred the advisor uncomfortably. He bit his lower lip, horribly captivated. It didn't however deflect from the internal, visceral need to leave - _he needed to run and get the hell out of there_ \- but his limbs had frozen solid in betrayal.

In the deathly silence of the library, his place of former sanctuary, he struggled relentlessly to tear his eyes away from the older man in the throws of passion, small sounds of pleasure resonating in the quiet, the table creaking with every desperate movement.  
It was dark, terribly dark, and yet the image of the half undressed shield had burned itself into his memory like an unruly curse, worsened only by the sound of the shield's shuddering, possessive voice as he came.

For the advisor, it was unbearable.  
He remained behind the bookcase, frozen, possibly for half an hour or more, until finally the pair dressed haphazardly and left through a different entrance.

Ignis stood in the darkness, blinking, forgetful of time and the reason for his standing there. His stomach did somersaults. He wondered for a few moments if he might be sick.  
The young advisor had little recollection of the walk back to his rooms in the citadel that night, the old recipe book having taken a beating from the stressful, sweating grip of his clutches. All thought of Altissian pastries, and Noct for the matter, had vanished from his mind.

As soon as he made his way through the front door and into his living room, he threw the book carelessly onto the table, sweating horribly from the summer heat and trembling with adrenaline and something else.  
He threw himself into the shower without question, deliberately running it ice cold, stinging his skin until his limbs shook violently with pure rejection. He hadn't bothered to remove his glasses. He'd even discarded his expensive tailored clothes onto the damp bathroom floor. It was the very least of his concern at this moment, too caught up in his own desires despite the freezing water pouring down on him.  
The scene still fresh in his memory appeared to have no intention of fading, no matter how much he cursed himself or for how long he endured the torturous temperature of the water. His closed his eyes in frustration and gave up the fight.  
He leaned against the shower wall, an arm resting his weight against the cold tiles, a hand finding it's way down to the hard, frustrated length, desperate for relief. It did not take long - a minute perhaps - before he came, helplessly dizzied and biting his lower lip until it stung profusely. Despite the promise of relief, it did little to satiate his needs.

The young advisor swore.

He continually tried to ignore the urgent stirring he felt, building inside of him, pent up, twisting and taunting. It kept him awake for hours as he lay in bed, overheating under the duvet until he gave up and threw it violently across the room.  
The amber eyes of the shield haunted him, even with his own eyes closed tight. Such thoughts manipulated themselves beyond subtle images; before long he found himself fantasising about strong, rough hands on him, frantic undressing, chapped lips crushed against his own. He was at utter mercy to fantasy as it ran away with him.  
Ignis rolled over onto his front, hoping to stifle the utterly uncontrollable. His fingers twitched in retaliation.

He hated himself for the somewhat dreadful relief that coursed through him as he gave in to his weakness, again, his hand finding its way down once more to betray his overtly controlled mind.  
It took longer this time - his body less sensitive in the second instance. Despite the involuntary pink that flushed his face, Ignis took his time, eyes closed and memory plagued by the sight of the shield, half naked and fucking his lover. His mind played games of torture and despair, hurt to see the man he wanted so urgently with a woman but mesmerised with how it might feel to be wanted and claimed by him. He trembled with awful pleasure, mouth open with small gasps, flickers of the shield's shuddering voice in his memory forcing the seventeen year old to come violently into his hand, hot, white release coating his stomach and the bedsheets.

It took a little longer this time for the advisor to sober up to reality, his whole body weakened and overheated. He was thoroughly out of breath. His glasses had slipped down over his nose, skewed at an odd angle, something he corrected with urgency.  
He'd made a terrible mess, he thought regretfully, and proceeded to the extremities of changing the bedsheets and showering again. It did little to calm his nerves, but at least, he reminded himself, the overwhelming brunt of need had weakened temporarily for the time being. He only hoped it would stay that way.

 

* * *

 

Gladiolus Amicitia returned to the citadel library at the crack of dawn, via the side entrance, much as he had the night before. Despite the pleasures of the night still reminiscent in his mind, he was horribly anxious.

He had forgotten something.

He made his way through the hallway, a little nervous but hopeful that no one would be around. The thought of being caught so early to retrieve a discarded box of condoms and some of his clothing from such a respected place sent shivers down his spine. At least, he thought, he had another hour before the librarian would be in to open the doors. He had plenty of time.

The shield passed the cooking section, barely giving it a second glance. Yet as he passed the central desk, the librarian's place of work, something caused the shield to stop.

The dawn light reflected through a glass paperweight on the librarians table, twinkling in the corner of his vision. He looked at it, thoughtfully. To this day, he questioned why he stopped for something so small, so trivial. He did not quite understand what drew him to the heavy, lumbering object in the first instance, yet he had stopped without question.  
A note beneath it in particular, caught his eye more so than the glass, handwritten, utterly familiar. He knew that handwriting anywhere.

Frowning and without further thought, the shield reached for the note, innocently curious as to the content of the italic handwritten words. It was a curiosity that would stick with him forever.

His frown hardened.

_"Altissian sweet treats and pastries"_  
_Borrowed 10:45pm, 20th June,  
Ignis Scientia._


	2. Chapter 2

A week had passed, time seeming to crawl at a slower pace than usual. It was something to do with the weather; Insomnia was in the midst of a heatwave and as a result, the citadel had been ridiculously hot.  
The sweltering temperature was welcomed by the majority, many of whom took it as an opportunity to dress lighter, spend greater time outdoors and treat it as a sort of temporary vacation. However, not all had the same enthusiasm or the freedom to behave in such a manner.

Ignis, had always worked long days - longer than would be normal in the summer, thanks to extended daylight hours. When most workers at the citadel were finishing work comfortably at 5pm, the young advisor would be ready to begin his second or sometimes third shift of the day taking care of the prince. In the summer months Noct would often need ferrying around, not just from tuition or training but back and forth between nights out with friends from school. If he was not being entertained elsewhere, Ignis would often be left with the responsibility. It proved to be a challenging venture, particularly now that the boy was fifteen.  
Noctis at times could be especially needy and kept everyone in service to him considerably occupied. Yet as draining and as tiresome as it could be, Ignis would always work beyond what was expected of him. Whilst he was allocated a few hours free here and there, he would often avoid it with considerable effort.  
Standing still made him twitchy, restless. If he was working at least, he thought, his mind would not wander in quite the same capacity.  
Ignis had a tendency to overthink things - something he thought he had started to control, just a tiny bit - until of course one particularly evening a week ago. The advisor's mind had since been working overtime.

He had passed the shield at least twice during the duration of the last seven days - in the long corridors of the citadel - both times he had been with other people and as usual, had been ignored. It didn't hurt especially, or at least, that's what he told himself; what did bother him was the lack of any sort of acknowledgement at all. The shield had wholly avoided all eye contact.  
The advisor toyed with the idea that he was simply imagining things, Gladio was as busy and probably as stressed as himself. Ignis knew for sure, he wasn't alone in the duty of raising a thoroughly difficult prince.  
A strange thought however did cross his mind. One he hadn't really considered until more recently, concerning the night he had walked in on the shield amidst the darkness of the library.

It was unlikely but he wondered... _Did he know I was there?_

No sooner had he thought it did he come to regret the question.  
Out in the open it ran circles around him, throughout the long days and into the night. It kept him awake, unable to switch off. He took to blaming it on the heat of the June sun, continuing to burn late into the evening. In truth, the heat did little more than stoke the fire of unanswered questions.

By the time it came to Friday night, the advisor was thoroughly fed up.  
He'd returned the prince home from an evening with friends, the boy drunk despite not being old enough to buy alcohol. Ignis had been furious. The drive back to the citadel had been a nightmare. Worse still, it took longer than anticipated to get the boy undressed and into bed, having spent a near hour holding his hair back when he was finally sick in the bathroom. Noct seemed oblivious to the older boy's utter fury and crawled into bed on all fours, mumbling apologies.  
The advisor had finally managed to return to his own rooms at the citadel close to midnight, several hours later than he had planned with no time for a bath or something to eat.  
The early hours of Saturday morning came and went. As with every night this week, the young advisor had struggled to switch off. When he had fallen into the slumber of sleep once or twice, his mind continued to tick over and unravel into havoc, no longer held back or maintained by arduous tasks on his schedule.

The young man awoke, suddenly, as he had done numerous times that night and many nights before. The duvet had wrapped itself around him tighter than was necessary or comfortable. He had clearly overheated - on schedule, he thought - the material sticking to him like glue. He groaned in annoyance, throwing the duvet aside and forcing himself out of bed. The heat left him a little dizzy on his feet. Like clockwork it took a moment for the room to stop spinning in his vision, before he reached over to the bedroom window and pushed it open a little bit wider. He was not fond of leaving it so open at night - it let in all sorts of bugs and nasties - but in such temperatures he felt he had no choice.

His actions however, did little to help. There was no breeze at all.  
Cursing under his breath he undressed from his pyjamas, standing back from the view of the open window as he peeled off the damp material. He clambered back into bed, not one for sleeping naked but thoroughly fed up and increasingly without patience. All form of tiredness had escaped him, he thought begrudgingly, he hadn't a hope in hell of getting back to sleep. It was not ideal, particularly when the approaching morning would be busy and he was attempting to cut back on his Ebony consumption.

People close to him had noticed a few things and started to make comments. Wednesday of all days, had been particularly challenging. The advisor had endured many, many hours of discussions in a meeting with the royal council, a report on the disruption of food supply from Leide being picked apart and unravelled, scrutinised carefully. The room had been stiflingly hot. He had closed his eyes for just a moment to rest them, hoping no one would notice until he felt his head jolt forward. Several council members had looked up, a few pairs of eyes had narrowed in his direction with utter disapproval. He had apologised profusely.  
More worryingly to the advisor Noct had made a comment only two days before, regarding what he considered to be 'weird'dark circles starting to show under his glasses. The prince found it mildly amusing and had simply passed him another Ebony for good measure. Ignis said very little.  
He didn't want anyone to think he wasn't coping, or to suspect that he was unwell. Quite frankly he had no idea of his status, or if he was unwell. He'd never been particularly ill before, beside the occasional cold he would catch from Noct during their close proximity. Nonetheless, the thought of being signed off sick by the royal council or his Majesty terrified him. It was something he refused to accept or allow to happen. He simply assumed, he would have to take better care of himself.

With a sigh, he lay back against the slightly damp sheets, reaching for his glasses on the bedside table. As he had done so almost every night this week, Ignis took the awake opportunity to tidy up his schedule and catch up on correspondence. There were always countless emails to attend to, his inbox at times flooded with updates from the council, Noct's tutor and all the rest. It was a tiresome, daily occurrence. He had at least his current bout of insomnia to thank for getting through most of them.

A good hour passed in which Ignis scrolled through his inbox, replying and forwarding as needed. Occasionally he came across slightly odd, dubious emails, _Noct's fault_. The prince had a terrible habit of forgetting to charge his own phone, wasting the battery on Kings Knight and then pleading to use Ignis's to finish the game. No doubt he had signed up to things when he had downloaded the app, Ignis thought with some annoyance. Kings Knight Gamer Weekly, **delete** , Lucian Fishing Pro, **delete** , Insomnian Singles...

Ignis frowned slightly. His finger hovered over the delete button.

Not particularly fitting for a fifteen year old crown prince, he thought curiously, clicking on the email. It was none other than a weekly update of Insomnia's latest singles, names and faces he mostly did not recognise.

He pondered deleting it, wrinkling his nose at the garishness of such a website. He found it difficult to believe that people used dating websites, Noctis in particular, or anyone else he cared for in that instance. It was alien to him, shameful to say the least, and yet left him somewhat curious. He browsed.  
He scrolled for a while, eventually recognising several faces after some time, people he worked with or knew of. The thought that Noctis might come up in his search results worried him, the boy obviously had some sort of account somewhere but a quick search came to no avail.  
He sighed with minor relief. Still, it left the advisor uncomfortable but intrigued at the same time.

 _What if, of course..._  
Ignis sighed at the thought.

He wondered if Gladio had an account. On one hand, it would be of no surprise to the advisor. He had beautiful girls lining up to date him, he had thought uncomfortably.  
He considered the idea in some depth, toying with the thought of such a thing. It had become habit to think of him with a girl under his arm, so rarely without, a circumstance the advisor came to despise.  
Ignis closed his eyes for a moment, a little strained from staring at a small screen in near darkness. He laid back further into the pillows. Phone still in his hand and without removing his glasses he took a moment to relax, every muscle in his body overtly tense. His shoulders took most of the damage, as they usually did.  
He attempted to think of something else - tomorrow's schedule. He had to be up early for Noct. The boy would of course, need a little extra time in the morning, he concluded, no doubt nursing a headache.

When Ignis finally opened his eyes after what he assumed to be a little rest, daylight poured in through the open window. Wearily he removed the glasses still attached to him, precariously balanced on the bridge of his nose. Falling asleep with them on was fast becoming a difficult habit to shift - they were already a little crooked from such mishaps.  
He blinked a few times, concerned that his alarm had not sounded, despite the daylight. His eyes darted to the clock on his bedside table.

The advisor had slept through his alarm.

 

* * *

 

Noct woke up to the sensation of being pulled out of bed. He groaned and swore in retaliation, kicking away the figure that had removed the duvet and pulled him up by his arm. It did little to halt their attempts.

By the time he finally gave in and opened his eyes, he was in a seated position on the bed, dizzied to have been woken so suddenly and without warning. His head throbbed in agony.

"What do you want?" The prince groaned, wincing as the curtains were opened. "Don't..."

"I want you to get up."

The boy closed his eyes, the damage of the night before taking full effect. He dreaded the sound of his advisor's footsteps around him, more urgent than usual. His stomach churned.

"Not today..."

"Up."

He felt his advisor pull the duvet back from his clutches, too weak to fight back as he might usually do.

"Why are you doing this?" Noct asked, rubbing his aching forehead.

He heard his advisor exhale, frustratedly.

"We're running remarkably late, highness."

The prince groaned, put out at the realisation that it was Saturday and he was due at a full afternoon of training. The thought of any form of exercise at all on a hangover made him feel sick, to say the least. He attempted to lay back down, ignoring the feel of clothes being thrust upon him.

"You need to get dressed." The older boy insisted, voice unusually tense.

"Can't..."

"You can."

"I won't."

"Highness-"

"Go away."

The prince felt himself this time dragged by the ankle into a heap on the floor, ironed clothes clambering alongside.

"What the hell-"

" **Up**." Ignis growled, somewhere beside the bed. "Now. Noct."

Noctis frowned, finally looking up to his advisor standing over him with a face of thunder.

"Did you have to be so fucking heavy handed..." the prince snapped.

Ignis paused, studying the boy at the foot of the bed.

" _Heavy handed_?"

Noct sighed, angered. The room shifted in his vision.

"Take a hint."

"Pardon?"

He watched his advisor push his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, taking a step closer.

Noct scowled up at the older boy.

"I...have...a headache." He replied, eyes narrowed.

"Well..." Ignis uttered, reminiscent of the night before. "I cannot say that I am surprised, nor am I particularly sympathetic."

"Let me sleep it off..." Noct replied, calmer this time. "Give me another hour."

His advisor stared back, unimpressed. The sympathy he had hoped for little more than dead in the water.

"There's no time, Noct."

"What's the time?"

The advisor didn't take a moment to glance at his wristwatch.

"It's almost 12."

"Noon?"

"Yes - now stop wasting time and get dressed."

"Why didn't you wake me up earlier??"

He watched his advisor rub his eyes from under his glasses, exasperated, tired.

"Ignis-"

" **Noct** - for once do as I ask of you."

The prince froze momentarily, uneasy to hear the older boy raise his voice. He tore his stare away from the green eyes commanding him, waiting with tested patience as ever.  
Noct caved, eventually, swearing again under his breath.  
"Fine." He mumbled, slipping his pyjama shirt up over his stomach. "I'm telling Gladio this is your fault..."

"Be my guest."

The prince watched his advisor turn away as he began to undress, pulling his shirt up and over his shoulders. Ignis kept a close eye on his wristwatch, Noct assuming he was counting the seconds until he finally lost his patience.  
He undressed a little quicker.

"I have a potion for you in the car." He heard the older boy speak with his back to him, calmer now.

"Oh.." The prince uttered, slipping on clean clothes. "You knew I'd need one?"

"Is that a serious question?"

"Sure."

He heard the advisor sigh.

"Clearly his highness has no recollection of spending a good hour with his head down a toilet." Ignis replied, turning to look over his shoulder at the half dressed prince. "...Are you struggling with those buttons again?"

".....Uh huh."

"For goodness sake.."

Noct allowed his advisor to turn and close the gap between them, buttoning up the sleeves to his shirt. He knew he was hopeless at the best of times, worst still when hungover. Not that it happened very often, he thought uncomfortably, despite how much Ignis liked to make a big deal of things. Last night had been no different - Ignis had been quietly furious upon sight of him, thoroughly drunk in a heap on the floor of Prompto's kitchen.  
Noct tried not to smile about it, as he stood slightly swaying, eyes watching he quick hand of his advisor helping him to dress without problem, checking he was suitably smart and the rest.

"Thanks." The prince said, quieter.

He felt Ignis place a hand on his shoulder.

"I have your gym bag ready by the door." He spoke, an eye flittering to his wristwatch. "Now - be sure to brush your teeth."

"You don't need to remind me." Noct replied, rolling his eyes again.

"On a normal day perhaps not," Ignis murmured, removing his hand from the younger boy's shoulder. "However today his highness smells of vodka."

With a sigh of mild exasperation, he urged the boy in the direction of the bathroom.

The boy eventually did as he was asked and not a moment too soon. Ignis hurried him out the door in an instant, rushing them to the car with upmost urgency. They had little time to spare. Neither wished to keep the shield waiting, particularly the advisor. It would be difficult enough having to make small talk, let alone apologise profusely for the delay, the thought of which had the advisor's heart racing in his chest.  
They had barely spoken a single word to one another in a considerable amount of time.

Ignis breathed deeply, _in and out, in and out_...attempting to calm himself as he buckled up and started the engine. The air con clicked on with it, a small, welcoming instance in the heat of the near midday sun.  
Noct gave a sigh of relief, equally content; Ignis looked to his side. The prince, like himself, was not greatly fond of the heat, worse still in his current condition.  
As his advisor had assured, the prince found a potion waiting for him on the front seat of the car - a little something he seemed grateful for. A small, thoughtful gesture from his slightly annoyed advisor but adequate nonetheless. It took the edge off the hangover at least.

Ignis reminded him to buckle up, as usual, silently checking that he did so before setting off. He hadn't, and was quick to inform the prince.  
Noct _eventually_ did as he was asked, slowly and reluctantly, scowling.

The pair hardly spoke a word as they began the short distance. Noct went to the effort of turning on the radio.  
Ignis felt the younger boy watching him occasionally, frowning and still somewhat annoyed to have been awoken for training in his current condition. Ignoring the crawl of blue eyes upon him he attempted to relax his shoulders, feeling that he had begun to tense up. He sat up a little straighter, breathing in and out, slow and calm. He tried to focus on something else, besides the grumpy teenage boy at his side, shooting daggers through him. He thought of the day ahead. And then he thought of Gladio.

Driving only assisted in the turning over of difficult thoughts. As he would so often remind himself, it had been quite some time since he had spoken to the shield, properly at least. The odd grunt of hello hardly counted. They had passed each other numerous times as of late, awkward as ever. Today of course, they would be forced to speak for longer than a quick hello. Ignis felt somewhat nervous.  
He could hear his heart beat racing in his ears, on edge from adrenaline. The Ebony he had quickly downed for breakfast certainly hadn't helped. He hoped no one would notice and yet, he felt the prince staring at him.

"You're making a face." He heard the boy finally speak.

Ignis hesitated, caught off guard.

"Pardon?"

"Your face." Noct repeated, folding his arms.

He watched the advisor glance sideways at him.

"What's wrong with my face?" His advisor asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"I don't know, you tell me." the prince replied, casually. "You're making a face."

Ignis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He turned his attention back to the road.

"I'm driving, Noct." He uttered.

The prince rolled his eyes, turning away to face the passenger window. He hiked up the air con a little more before laying back further into the passenger seat, adjusting it slightly, fiddling with things, attempting to make himself comfortable. A pair of green eyes narrowed at him in the mirror.

"I will be collecting you at three today." Ignis spoke, after a time. "Is there anything you would like me to bring you this afternoon?"

The prince shrugged, nonchalantly.

"I dunno." He mumbled, watching the world go by the window. "Cook something?"

"Any requests?"

"Uh...something sweet." He decided, pausing for a moment. "Cook something from that book."

"Book?"

The prince nodded, nonspecific.

"The one on your table."

"The library book, I presume."

The prince shrugged, still rather nonspecific.

"Alright, I'll see what I can do." Ignis replied with a small nod. "You must be hungry after your ordeal last night."

"Uh huh." The prince confirmed, dizzy at the memory of it.

His stomach did hurt, both in hunger and soreness.  
He had lost count of how much time was spent, bruised knees kneeled on cold bathroom tiles, being sick for what felt like hours. Ignis had taken care of him, furious with the boy but staying by his side throughout, as usual. Noct felt guilty to say the least. He tried not to think about it.

Five minutes into the drive, he felt the car slow to a halt in minor traffic. Noct opened his eyes, realising he had very briefly, _slightly_ , nodded off. He looked to his side, his advisor taking a moment to adjust his glasses, a little steamed up from the heat of the car.  
The dark circles he had noticed on the older boy earlier in the week seemed a little more pronounced without the cover of spectacles. Noct dared not mention it again, particularly after the last time.  
He flinched when Ignis looked up, noticing his stare.

"Something the matter?" The older boy quipped, removing a fingerprint from the back of his glasses.

"Uh, no."

Ignis turned his attention back to what he was doing, quickly returning his glasses to his face. Noct looked down at his feet.

"We will have to apologise to Gladio," he spoke up. "I can't say he will be best pleased with our lateness."

"We?"

"Of course, Noct."

He felt Noct turn to face him once more, if only for a moment, deflated.

"Can't _you_ just apologise to him?" The prince grumbled, rolling his eyes.

"Will it not be a joined effort?"

" _You_ are the one who made me late." Noct replied abruptly.

Ignis sighed, frowning as he did so. His eyes darted sideways to glance at the boy beside him.

"Quite." Ignis replied, biting his lower lip. "It won't happen again."

"What exactly happened?"

"I may have over slept."

He heard the prince stifle a laugh as the traffic lights ahead went from amber to green. The car jolted forward.

"For real?" Noct remarked.

"Unfortunately yes." He uttered, darkly, eyes focused on the drive once again. "I appreciate it's a little out of character..."

"For someone that's always up at the crack of dawn or earlier, yeah."

"I'm rather exhausted, Noct, more so than usual. I've barely had a wink of sleep all week." Ignis replied, in a moment of rare admission. "I had planned to have an early night, after I took you home."

Noct paused for a moment.

"Which didn't happen..."

"Correct."

The advisor drove over a bump, faster than he ought to, shuddering the car.

"So it's my fault."

"Partially."

He indicated to change lanes, a sign that they were fast approaching their desitination. The prince slumped further back into the passenger seat.

"Last night...I didn't ask you to do that." The younger boy muttered, eyes elsewhere. "You could've just left me."

"Don't be foolish." His advisor replied bluntly.

"It's not foolish, it's common sense, Ignis."

"Now, now."

"You're being an idiot and you're going to burn yourself out."

He heard Ignis sigh slightly. The older boy of course said nothing, turning his attention back to the road ahead. He held back on a reply, hesitant, swallowing down all raw emotion that threatened to come spilling out. He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, attempting to refocus, concentrate, drive properly as he was supposed to.  
His knuckles whitened.

The younger boy turned to look at his advisor beside him, back rod-straight as it was so often, cold, without reaction, eyes straight ahead in concentration. He was at least thinking, that much Noctis knew, from years of observing the tiny, minuscule movements in the green eyes he had become accustomed to over the years.

Nothing more was spoken in the short drive, the advisor soon parking up in the reserved bay outside the building. Handbrake on and engine off, he wasted no time in getting out the car to retrieve Noct's belongings from the backseat, the younger boy of which slowly, reluctantly followed, slamming the car door shut with somewhat annoyance.

The prince disappeared off ahead without another word, scowling as he did so, his advisor following closely with the boy's gym bag under his arm. He felt a tiny bead of sweat trickle down his forehead. Ignis winced at the thought of it, quickly wiping it away on his handkerchief.  
He immediately dreaded the heat inside the training building, taunted from recollection over the years that it could be worse than heat of the noon sun outside.  
He watched Noct disappear inside the front entrance, failing to hold the door open for his advisor.

Ignis frowned, putting away the handkerchief with one hand and struggling with the prince's belongings in the other. By the time he got to the door, it opened from within for him. He sighed with mild relief that somebody had taken a sort of pity on himself.  
He shivered when he realised Gladiolus was holding the door.

The shield said nothing, despite the polite nod and a quick thank you he received from the advisor.  
Ignis led himself inside, sheer, stifling heat hitting him like a brick wall, eyes slowly adjusting to the lack of bright sunlight. It took a moment.

Gladio followed him in, stern and without so much as a greeting, shutting the door behind them.

The advisor hesitated when he could no longer see the prince, who seemed to have disappeared altogether. He opened his mouth to speak when he was cut off, a hand removing the boy's belongings from his grip.  
The shield avoided his stare, silently taking the gym bag into the changing room. Again, he ignored all pleasantries and thank yous.

He left the advisor standing in the hallway.  
It took the younger man a moment to gather up his thoughts, utterly hot under the collar. The building, as he had suspected, was unbearably hot. It was an old building, built with stuffy stone walls and small windows. The air con was at the best of times, poor to say the least. It meant nothing to Gladio and most of the Crownsguard who more often than not, paraded around in vest tops and generally skimpy gym gear. In his tailored, formal attire the advisor stuck out like a sore thumb and quite frankly, did not belong in such a place. Several Crownsguard jostled past him, unaware and almost knocking him sideways. He stepped backwards, squashing himself close against the wall, eyes awkwardly down at his feet.  
A trickle of sweat crept down over his neck. He checked his wristwatch, eyes on the time, mind on his schedule for today. _Still time to bake something for Noct_ , he pondered, _before collecting him from training at 3pm, that leaves an hour for grocery shopping_.

"Ignis."

The advisor looked up suddenly, interrupted and pulled from his thoughts. He had barely noticed the shield standing expectantly before him, arms folded.

"Yes?"

"A moment, please." Gladio murmured, indicating to the office door opposite.

Ignis swallowed.

"Of course." He replied almost inaudibly, following after the man who again held the door open for him.

He trembled slightly as the door clicked shut behind them, alone in the space of an office. He took several steps back from the door, the shield remaining put.  
The older man opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off.

"I apologise for our lateness." Ignis spoke, abrupt.

He adjusted his glasses nervously, uncomfortable as a pair of amber eyes scrutinised him carefully.

"No need." He replied. "Noct beat you to it."

Ignis bit his lower lip, eyes tilting away from the stare upon him.

"I see."

"He's hungover."

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Are you letting him drink?" The shield asked, leaning back against the door. "The kid looks like shit."

"No." Ignis explained, deflated. "Absolutely not."

"Does Regis know?"

"I have mentioned it to his Majesty before, yes."

"Before??"

Ignis rubbed his eyes, stressed.

"It's not the first time," he uttered, with somewhat defeat. "I'm certain it won't be the last."

Gladio sighed, heavily.

"It will start to affect his training, you know that right?"

"I am more than aware." Ignis replied, finally meeting the stare of the man before him. "And I am doing all I can."

"So what are you doing about it?"

The advisor grit his teeth.

"I can only advise the prince, Gladio." He replied, as calmly as he could. "That you should know."

"You need to put a stop to this."

"I can only try."

"You need to _make_ him stop."

"I cannot order him around any more than you can, Gladio."

"So you'll let him keep this up?"

"Of course not." He replied, voice wavering in frustration. "If you have any suggestions on the matter, I urge you to share them with me."

The shield shook his head, standing up from his lean on the door. He took a step closer to the advisor, his stance towering over.

"You ought to keep a closer eye on him." Gladio uttered, running a hand through his hair.

Ignis hesitated, feeling a little flushed. He cleared his throat, pondering a decent response that didn't require him to raise his voice. The thought of which, was tempting.

"He's fifteen years old." Ignis replied, exasperated. "He's not a child, I cannot be there to control every aspect of his life at every waking hour."

"He may not be a kid anymore but he's the crown prince."

"I cannot be everywhere, try as I might." The advisor confirmed, eyes looking past the shields shoulder at the door behind him. "Crown prince or otherwise."

The shield gave a small shrug, taking another step closer. He stared down at the slightly smaller, younger man.

"Not everywhere, no." He replied, nonchalantly. "But perhaps you ought to spend less time in the library on a Saturday night."

The shield finally stood aside, stern and calm as ever, gesturing to the door.

"Let me see you out."

 

* * *

 

Gladiolus returned to the Amicitia family home not long after dusk. He was thoroughly tired, particularly after an afternoon of tolerating the young prince. It was challenging at the best of times. Today however had been unlucky timing for the shield who himself was not in the best of moods. He'd struggled to concentrate.

It annoyed him, worst still when an overly formal figure returned at precisely five minutes to three, ready to collect the prince. Amber eyes narrowed at the familiar stature, the shield watched him waiting patiently in the doorway as he and the prince cooled down with some stretches, a pair of spectacled eyes intentionally avoiding his stare.

It had been confirmed to him, there and then. Ignis had seen him that night, a week ago.  
Gladio knew and was furious, as standard.

He'd spent a week bottling it all up, mild annoyance turning to terrible anger in a matter of days. He chose a moment carefully to let the younger man know he knew, crafted in such a way to embarrass and cause discomfort. He had deliberately stood in front of the shut door, intimidating, deliberate in his questioning, critical of him, initially taking great pleasure in the stress on the younger man's face, flushed pink, lacking in response. He had led him out of the building with a smile.

It was a short lived pleasure however, dying away on the sorry sight of the advisor when he had returned several hours later. The shield's brief amusement quickly turned to remorse.

He tried not to think about it, as he later conversed with the younger man about Noct's progress, both acting as if nothing had happened, Ignis holding a cake tin under one arm. He tried not to think about anything, until of course half of what was in the cake tin turned out to be for him, the other half for Noct, apparently on request.  
In that moment he felt awash with terrible guilt, a dark, awful feeling that followed the shield home.

The Amicitia house was gloriously quiet when he returned, his father busy working in the study with the door shut.  
The shield did not announce his arrival, too tired and desperate to maintain some sort of peace and quiet as he made his way into the kitchen. He was starved - famished even - the sweet treats from Ignis wrapped up carefully in paper packaging all ready to go.

Silence and tranquility however, was fleeting - he was not alone. He heard the pitter patter of childlike, familiar footsteps enter the kitchen shortly after he did. She had obviously heard the front door click shut, he thought, his back to her. No sooner had he placed the wrapped treats onto the marble counter, did the unwelcome intruder make themselves known.

"Whatcha got there?"

Gladio sighed, pausing all movement. He rolled his eyes.

"Altissian pastries."

"Altissian?"

With a further, more deliberate sigh, he turned to face his younger sister, pyjama clad and curious as ever.

"Yeah." He replied plainly, fetching a fork.

"As in the place?" She asked, tilting her head. "Across the sea?"

"The very place."

Iris smiled, closing the gap between them. Gladio watched carefully, eyes narrowed. His stomach started to grumble with the thought of such delicious food being taken from him.

"Where did you get them?" She asked, eyeing them closely. "Dad never brought these home before..."

"They're not from the bakery." He replied, offering her a treat. "Or dad...uhh I take it you want one?"

Her face lit up with delight. Iris had quite the sweet tooth.

"Are you offering?"

Gladio nodded, a little defeated.

"...If you give me a break tonight." He replied, wearily. "I've had a long day."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The shield shrugged, increasingly desperate to eat something and go to bed.

"Hey you want one or not?"

He watched the young girl pout slightly, with a nod.

"Thank you..."

Iris helped herself, a little smile creeping back onto her face as she placed one on a small plate from the cupboard.

"What are they made of?"

"Uhh.."  
Gladio paused, hesitant. He was sure Ignis had told him, in his usual heavily detailed manner. Somehow it had gotten lost amongst all other detail.

"Butter, uhh pastry.....Something about honey? I guess..." Gladio exhaled. "Something nice."

He watched her raise an eyebrow.

"Mmm." She continued, taking a bite. "These are good..."

Gladio nodded in agreement, finding himself a fork.

"They even _look_ cute..." he heard her muse, before he turned away at the ready to leave for his room. "Did a girl make these for you?"

Gladio paused, a little uncomfortably.

"No, not exactly."

"So who made them?"

"Just someone I know." He replied sheepishly, avoiding her eyes.

The smile on her face widened as she swallowed. Iris noticed.

"You're blushing."

"Iris."

He frowned at the sound of her childish giggling, masking the perceptive glance she threw over her older brother.

"Do you like the girl who made these for you?" She said, winking.

"No."

"I don't believe you." Iris replied, grinning from ear to ear as she took a second bite. "You're still blushing."

Gladio sighed, taking her choice words as time for departure.

"Enjoy." He uttered, turning to leave with the rest of the pastries and a fork. "Don't stay up too late."

"Good night, Gladdy."

"Night."

The man in question disappeared out of the kitchen, shoulders a little tense and uncomfortable as he left. He frowned as he made his way up the vast, winding staircase to his room on the third floor, pastries in one hand, shutting and bolting the door locked with the other upon entrance. A small sigh of relief washed over him. Everything was just as he left it.

He threw aside his gym bag as it clung to his shoulder - making a mental note to wash its contents later on - before setting himself down on the large bed with the pastries. After a day like he'd had, they were just what he needed, welcoming, sweet and thoroughly comforting. The advisor's speciality, he mused, cursing himself with continual thought of him. He shook his head, hoping such thoughts would go away.

He took a bite, his stomach continually rumbling with hunger, plate balanced carefully on his lap. Somehow the pastries tasted even better now that he was at home, semi relaxed. He felt guilty eating something the advisor had taken the time to bake, time he knew the younger man had so little of, when he himself could offer so little in return. _There's that guilt again_ , a little voice taunted at him. Gladio sighed.  
The thought of the advisor made him uncomfortable, unsteady, to say the least. He did not like to feel either of the two. He liked to be in control of the way he felt, after all, _what good was he as shield if he could not control himself_?  
It become the very reason he decided to reduce the time he spent with the advisor.

He hadn't wanted it to be this way. It was cruel, and yet he was anything but cruel and despised the thought of hurting someone he cared about. He knew Ignis cared for him. Had done, since they were children. Even then, the pair had been a part of each other's upbringing, different but the same, opposites running parallel. He missed Ignis, rather more than he would admit. But of course, it was a wholly self inflicted affair, a decision the shield had made by choice and yet the reality of such a thing burned away at his conscience.

 

He felt something for the advisor.

 

Time and time again, he condensed the truth down into a tiny, locked box he hid deep inside himself. No one could ever know, he had thought time and time again.  
It had come out of nowhere.

The younger, smaller boy he had seen as a brother figure had grown up, slowly but surely into a man, highly intelligent, dedicated to the crown. He gave his all to Noctis at the complete, unconditional sacrifice of himself, _almost like an Amicitia_. The shield had admired from afar, continuously for years. It had become most apparent in his sixteenth year, worsened by a cocktail of raging hormones and teenage angst. Ignis had joined the Crownsguard and seemed to be everywhere. Gladio could not help but notice him, more often than not, taller, toned, no longer the slight, geeky boy from before. At times he found himself staring, in passing, in training, in the library. He convinced himself that Ignis had started to notice, particularly when the spectacled eyes began meeting his own with suspect and curiosity. It was enough for Gladio to realise the way he looked at the younger boy had become distorted. It had corrupted him. Such ordinary feelings of friendship had warped and twisted into something else.

He hoped that with time it would go away, brushing it under the carpet as nothing but a teenage crush. He tried to ignore it, tried to avoid eye contact, focusing instead on maintaining professional companionship, intellectual conversation, _how was Noctis doing_?and all the rest.  
It worked for a while.

As a seventeen year old he made an effort to lose his virginity - a temporary distraction. He swapped evenings with the advisor for nights out with the Crownsguard and lots of strong, cheap alcohol. He took a different girl to bed every weekend. Some, he dated for longer, others just for the night. His current love interest, Valeriana, had been the longest so far; a dark haired beauty with olive skin and emerald eyes, a year older than he, her father high up in the royal council. As lovely as she was it amounted to no more than cheap thrills and distraction, he mused, something to smother reality.  
The reality of which, he as the prince's shield, responsible for continuing and maintaining the strong Amicitia lineage, had fallen hopelessly for a teenage boy.

It was a humiliation on a colossal, _mind_ - _fucking scale_ and yet there seemed to be nothing he could do. Gladio still wanted to talk to him. He missed him.  
He considered calling, emailing, maybe even just a one off text to the advisor, something brief and polite, a _thank you for the pastries, it's been a while, so sorry to talk to you like shit earlier, wanna hang out?_  He rolled his eyes at himself.

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and frowned, pondering the coincidence. The frown marring his forehead only worsened as he retrieved it, eyes intent on the screen.

  
Message received from Valeriana Dioica 21:58:  
_I'm outside. Can we talk?_

 

* * *

 

When the advisor returned to his rooms in the citadel, weary and arms full of groceries, he noticed something unusual by his shoes as he removed them. An envelope had been slipped under the front door.

He frowned, putting his bags in the kitchen before returning to retrieve the foreign object that had entered his home in the few hours he had been gone. It was plain, the address printed in bold capitals, stamped with the red seal of the Lestallum posting office. It was of course, he assumed, from his uncle. The older man usually phoned if conversation was to be had, Ignis thought with a frown. Sending a letter was an unusual, formal move to come from his only living relative. It was almost unheard of.  
A little nervously he adjusted his glasses, opening the envelope without another moment to ponder its contents.

_Dearest Ignis,_

_I hope this letter finds you safe and well; it has been many months since my last visit to you and for this I do apologise. Our work in Lestallum has been met with considerable and unfortunate delay. On a lighter note, I am most pleased to hear of your hard work and continual dedication to the royal council in my correspondence with the citadel. For that, I must tell you your father would be very proud of you._

_I will be returning to the citadel in December and I would like to arrange a meeting with yourself and Lady Valeriana Dioica._

_Whilst I understand the challenges and time constraints of your role to the crown, I do believe it is time we begin making arrangements for your engagement.  
If you so wish to contact Valeriana yourself, as I believe you should, I have attached her address to this letter._

Ignis stopped reading.  
He removed his glasses momentarily. It was not for any particularly good reason, but more out of nervous habit. He used it as an excuse to rub his eyes, face contorted as an annoying, pulsing sensation crept up his neck to his forehead: the foreboding of a migraine.

He sighed helplessly.

Hand clutching tightly at the letter, he returned the glasses he had removed temporarily to the bridge of his nose, along with some sort of lacking clarity. He remained at a pause in the doorway, thinking carefully.  
A small voice in the dark of his mind took a chance to speak up, revelling in the urgency to tear up the letter, burn it and pretend it never existed. Even the more controlled, voice of reason he so usually clung to seemed tempted to throw the beautifully handwritten letter out the window. His fingers twitched.

The young advisor cursed under his breath, leaning back against the closed front door.

He closed his eyes momentarily hoping to steady himself. Destruction of the letter would not do, he thought. It was not in his nature. It would not change anything. He was in his upmost, duty bound.

He swallowed down all form of despair and pity for himself, urging his troubled form away from the support of the door and into the space of the living room.  
Ignis placed the letter carefully on the table - an act of diplomacy and mild procrastination - even if it had crinkled suspiciously under his grip. At least he had not destroyed it, a small voice reassured in the back of his mind, he had done the correct thing. He stared at its ghastly form on his table, the name of a woman he had never met standing up off the page, along with other dreadful words and suggestions. Despite the discomfort the letter caused, he decided it would remain on the table for the current time being. No final decisions had to be made just yet, he told himself.  
Time and careful consideration was to be needed; he knew well this was not a decision to be taken lightly. Whilst he had never planned this far ahead, particularly when it came to the subject of marriage and inevitable children, he had duly expected such an occasion to be forced upon him eventually. The prince likewise, shared the same fate after all.  
As did, the shield. The very thought of which pushed him closer to the edge.  
A hand gripped the top of a chair at the table, steadying himself. Knuckles whitened against dark wood.

He would be eighteen in the new year, Gladiolus nineteen. They were both of a certain age, ready to be married off at the drop of a hat. He had no idea how he would love someone he had never met. But he would have to make it work. It was what his father would have wanted.

The young advisor exhaled, his knees weakening horribly, dizzy with the threat of migraine and overwhelm. He took a moment to sit down at his table, plagued by thoughts of the only person he had ever truly wanted. It left him weary.  
He felt sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this was like trying to put together a really difficult, shitty, stressful jigsaw puzzle. Fucking hell. Anyway. Apologies it took so long.


	3. Chapter 3

The month of June, along with its never ending daylight hours and sweltering heatwave, wilted into a July of warm rain and thunderstorms.

It wasn't unusual for Insomnia to have a short rainy season - as far as most people were concerned, it was good for the gardens and parks after a prolonged warm period. The flowers growing in the citadel grounds, particularly the more tropical ones from abroad were already in full bloom.

Gladiolus, despite his floral name, did not care much for flowers. He didn't particularly care much for the weather either. It could be desert-dry or full on snow storm and he would hardly blink an eyelid. The third or fourth torrential downpour of July proved no different to any other circumstance, at least to the eighteen year old shield.

It poured hard against the old windows of the training hall, beating down ferociously on the tile roof, distracting for most but none so for him. As he was so used to doing, he ignored distractions, besides taking a moment to frown at the two Crownsguard soldiers who had been sparring moments before. They had stopped and were chattering incessantly, standing at the window to watch another thunder cloud roll in and strike the city. It seemed to be a big deal - it had been mentioned a few times on the weather report at the start of the week, Gladio remembered.

Lightning flashed the room and flickered the lights several times. He flinched slightly, and continued onwards.

Fascinating for some, the shield mused, turning back to the punch bag. He was simply not interested, not in the mood.

He blocked out the sound of thunder crashing with each hit on the punch bag, hard and fast, refusing to let up until his limbs shook with utter exhaustion. Sweat dripped down over him, his heart racing violently in his chest. He had been going at it for several hours, alternating between boxing, sparring and strength training with weights. He'd remained totally focused, isolated from the others who trained with and around him. Despite the comings and goings of other Crownsguard he'd barely said a word to anyone.  
He'd earned a few strange looks, not that he cared a great deal. As the role of shield he was simply there to train, become stronger, live up to his duty. As himself, it helped to calm his mind and distract uncomfortable thoughts.  
Of late, he came here to forget about Valeriana, who without explanation had ended their relationship.

He found himself punching that little bit harder. He ignored the bruising sensation creeping over his fists.  
It wasn't the first time he had experienced rejection; there'd been multiple break ups through his teenage years and every time he'd simply picked himself up and carried on.  
He thought he'd be fine with it. With Valeriana, it hadn't been quite so straightforward. He assumed, somewhat too late, he had possibly fallen for her. He only hoped she wasn't leaving him for someone else.

Gladio punched all the more harder, fraught and challenged with more anger. It was difficult to keep up with the demands he set himself.

Lightning flashed the room again. This time with greater focus, he did not flinch. Thunder rumbled over.

The shield took a moment to rest, his breath no longer able to keep up. He leaned against the punch bag for a moment, hoping his breath would come back, counting down from thirty as if it would make any remarkable difference.  
Needless to say, he gave up soon after, thoroughly knackered, arms sore beyond use. He ached all over.  
His knuckles had started to bruise black and blue over the past couple of weeks, his muscles and joints tender from abuse and strain. Members of the Crownsguard had given him a few questionable looks, most of which he brushed off. Unfortunately his father Clarus had raised one or two comments of his own. He had noticed a slight, but sure change in his son, the boy quieter and more absent than usual. At times he scarcely saw the younger shield at all, save for hearing him come home at odd hours of the night. The older shield had started to worry himself, going as far to check up on his son several times, always finding him in the same place at the training hall, thrashing a punch bag or some member of the Crownsguard willing to spar with him.  
Clarus could not particularly complain, after all. If Gladio was to live up to the duty of shield, as he himself had endured, the boy would have to train hard and give his all, every time. And so, he did.

Gladio rubbed his eyes wearily, desperately trying not to think, about dad or Valeriana or anyone.

He profusely, horribly ached all over.

It took him some considerable time to get his breath back, so much so he barely heard the sound of someone else entering the training hall through the grand front door. His eyes scanned the archway leading out into the corridor, just missing sight of the figure as they walked past into the changing room. Instead he caught sight of the clock on the wall of the training hall - 8:55pm. The sight of which caused his shoulders to slump in exhaustion. Despite his minds willingness to continue, he was quite sure his body couldn't take another thrashing. He'd had enough.  
He stood up from his lean on the punch bag, a little shaken.

One of the Crownsguard at the window had their eyes on him, staring over their shoulder. It was a strange look that lingered, without smile or particular fondness. Gladio nodded briefly in their direction, grabbing his towel to dry off. They nodded back, a little hesitant, returning their watch to the storm outside.

Damp towel under his arm, the young shield walked out of the training hall and across the hallway, straight for the changing room and showers. He felt his legs weaken slightly, his entire body heavier, slower than usual. He hadn't eaten much today, a mistake he knew he'd pay for later. It wasn't in his nature to miss a meal, but somehow he had missed one or two, too busy and somewhat preoccupied. The shield knew, or rather felt he had considerably overdone it.

He entered the changing room and shut the door behind him, shoulders all the more slumping as he presumed his day was well and truly over: time to relax and unwind. No sooner had he considered it, his ears immediately picked up on the sound of a locker opening and shutting to his right.  
Upon instinct he glanced sideways, eyes briefly gracing an unfamiliar, masculine form standing away from him, slipping a formal white shirt up and off over their shoulders. They were tall, slender in a familiarity he tried to ignore. He thought little of it at first, walking over to his own locker close by to retrieve a clean towel and shower gel.

The young man several lockers to the right of him heard his heavy footsteps, pausing momentarily as he folded away a shirt with neat and careful precision. Eyes forward, Gladio ignored him, removing his sneakers and putting them in the locker. In the corner of his vision he spied the young man briefly looking over their shoulder at him, just for a moment, nothing too out of the ordinary. As quickly as they had looked, they turned away.

The shield said nothing, shutting everything away into his locker, clean towel at hand. He turned to leave.

Without much thought, if only a little, tiny bit curious, he stole a glance in passing.  
It took him a moment to realise. Perhaps it was because he was tired, had a ton of things on his mind or that he had well and truly overdone it in training on an empty stomach.  
He knew the man well, very well despite a lack of immediate recognition.

He felt his heart jolt like a shot to the chest.

The individual at his side was Ignis, in a rare state of moderate undress and without his glasses. The shield blinked a few times, feeling somewhat caught off guard at the sight of him.  
He tried not to look, not to stare at the young man undressing himself but he simply couldn't help it.

Ignis looked up.

Gladio paused, swallowing nervously, hoping his face hadn't flushed as badly as it felt. He ignored the impulse to ignore him, as tempting and easy it was to keep walking and leave. Instead he nodded, a minimal, but friendly gesture the younger man swiftly returned. It would've been rude not to.

Neither spoke, much to the relief of the shield.  
His heart pounded somewhat anxiously in his chest, an uncomfortable reminder to leave whilst neither party was willing to talk and he still had the chance to do so. The young advisor wordlessly, without great notice or interest in the shield at his side, turned back to retrieve a tshirt from the open locker.

And so as it was, the shield seized his chance. He straightened himself up, amber eyes forcibly averted towards the shower room door - an escape from the childhood friend he took great effort in avoiding.  
He swallowed uncomfortably as his body stalled, stiff and hesitant in betrayal, taking a moment longer than he had anticipated to pull himself together. He realised he was floundering, suddenly hot under the collar and pink in the face. With great effort he forced one heavy foot in front of the other, closing the gap. He had every intention of reaching for the door.

He almost made it.

"Gladio."

He froze.

"Uh..."

_Fuck_.

"Yeah?"

"I spoke to his Majesty about Noctis."

The shield exhaled, his back to the younger man. He cursed under his breath.

"What?" He responded, plainly.

" _Pardon_..."

The temptation to keep walking had never been greater.  
He looked to the shower room door for a moment, then over his shoulder at Ignis, torn between the two.

"What??"

He heard Ignis sigh.

"Did you not hear, Gladiolus?"

The shield felt his fingers twitch, fists balling up at his side.

"I heard you the first time..." he replied through gritted teeth. "What's Noct done now?"

"Ah," The advisor said as he removed his shoes, disappointed. "So quick to forget..."

The shield knew _that_ tone, in the advisor's voice. He'd heard it in several, difficult meetings, usually concerning some diplomat or minister who needed taking down a peg or two. He more often heard it used with Noct.

"Forget what exactly?" He asked, ignoring the urge to roll his eyes.

Conceding somewhat defeat, he turned to face the younger man fully.

The advisor was the one to roll his eyes, in full view of the amber stare now upon him. Ignis, as ever, did little to hide his disappointment, extending the silence between the two men as he placed his dress shoes into the locker with the rest of his carefully placed belongings. He even took the lengthy time to adjust the positioning of its contents and their neatness, lips pursed.

Gladio struggled to restrain himself.

"Ignis."

"Yes, Gladio."

The shield made a face.

"Care to share what's on your mind?" He questioned the younger man, patience running thin.

Ignis frowned, unfazed.

"Last month."

"Right." Gladio scrubbed his face with his hand, memory escaping him. "Elaborate, please."

"We spoke about Noct, in your office." The advisor continued, meeting the amber eyes across from him with a growing scrutiny. "Do you not recall?"

The shield finally nodded, arms folded.

"I _recall,_ yeah." Gladio replied, holding back a scowl. "You were late."

"Regrettably, yes."

"Noct was drunk."

The advisor shot him a look he could only interpret as distaste.

"Hungover, I think you'll find." He spoke with defiance.

"Hungover, drunk, its all the same when you're an _underage kid_." The shield replied bluntly, rubbing his jaw in thought.

"Quite." Ignis said, with a nod. "Which is why I informed his Majesty of our concerns-"

"That's the day you baked those pastries." The shield spoke up, cutting him off. "The Altissian ones."

He watched the younger man pause, frowning slightly.

"They were pretty good."

"Well," Ignis exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm glad the memory of my cooking helped you to remember the _important_ topic at hand."

"What?"

Ignis rolled his eyes, for the second time.

"Must I keep repeating myself, Gladio?" He asked, somewhat exasperated.

The shield bit his lip in restraint. He narrowed his eyes.

"You doubting my memory, Ignis?" He spoke up, taking a step closer.

"Somewhat, yes." The advisor uttered, nonchalantly. "Among other things."

Gladio paused, expression hardening like armour.

"You got a lot of mouth for a guy who bakes pretty treats for princes."

It was a comment the shield quickly came to regret. He mentally kicked himself.  
The advisor did little but raise an eyebrow, guarded and unreadable, as he so often was.

"How complimentary." Ignis replied, the tone in his voice softer than before.

He forced a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

It was one of the only instances in all the time Gladio had known Ignis, did the younger man give some sort of readable indication of emotion, _hurt_ , beneath the surface.  
He squirmed at it, a childish flurry of anger replacing itself with little more than shame and a familiar guilt burning on his cheeks.

"Ignis.."

"It's late." The advisor interrupted, eyes caught on his wristwatch.

The shield hesitated, closing his mouth no sooner had he been cut off. He felt the advisor's stare return to meet him, somewhat vulnerable without glasses.

Ignis rubbed his eyes momentarily, long eyelashes blinking away tiredness as his hands returned to his side. A quiet, shaken sigh escaped him.

"You must be tired." He continued, eyes glimmering as they caught the overhead light. "I won't keep you long."

"Ok."

"His Majesty wishes to discuss the matter further, in a meeting of some sort." he concluded, matter of factly. "Noct will be present."

Gladio nodded after a pause, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

"Ok." He repeated. "When?"

"Next week." Ignis said, leaning back against his locker. "If you have the time."

"I've got time.." The shield said. "I'll drop you an email. Or something."

"Alright."

Gladio nodded once more, almost to himself.  
Neither had any more to say to the other. He looked to the advisor, the younger man now staring down at his feet, blank faced.

He opened his mouth to speak, grimacing at the action of it, willing himself to apologise for his actions, his behaviour, _for being a really terrible, shitty friend the past two years_ , but found he simply could not.

Inside, he cursed himself.

Both stood awkward, tense in the silence.

It was no use. He couldn't stand it.

The shield turned away, defeated, seizing the moment to leave.  
It was easier this time.  
He closed the few steps between himself and the shower room door, cursing himself with each step. He reached for the door handle.

"Goodnight." He heard from behind him.

Gladio paused with his hand on the door handle, once again. He refused the temptation to look, even briefly, over his shoulder at the younger man.

"Night."

Without even the smallest flicker of relief or satisfaction, the shield finally opened and shut the shower room door behind him, echoing with minor clammer and shame.  
He'd escaped. He was alone.  
With shaken breath he exhaled heavily, easing away at least some of the awful tension taunting him closely.  
He leaned against the door for a moment, hands balling up into fists.  
He allowed his fingernails to dig into the palms of his hands, marring himself with angry red crescents. It did little to comfort.

He forced himself up from his lean on the door, ignoring the urge to punch the nearest wall as tempting as it felt.  
Towel and shower gel under his arm he entered the nearest shower cubicle, chucking his belongings onto the tile shelf and pulling the shower curtain across so hard it screeched painfully on the railing. He ignored the terrible sound that made his eyes water, threw aside his clothes and clicked the shower on.

The water was cold.  
It ran cold beyond a normal length of time, despite the angry adjustments he made to the hot tap. In the end he gave up.  
Gladio shivered. His limbs trembled slightly. He ached tremendously, all over.  
It was of course his own fault: payment for abusing himself all day. His body was giving up, and yet he endured.

He stood for quite some time under the ice cold water of the shower head, time of which he lost track of.  
At some point he reached up for the shower gel he'd thrown precariously on the tile ledge, pausing as he did so, his head suddenly swimming with dizziness. He closed his eyes, hoping to steady himself, overwhelmed with the sensation of the room shifting.

The shield reached blindly for the wall, something to lean on, just for a moment, until the room stopped spinning. In doing so he missed his footing and slipped on the wet tiles, hands grasping blindly at the shower curtain but unable to stop himself as he fell.  
His head collided hard with the tile floor.

 

* * *

 

By the time the advisor finished in the main training hall, it was near enough 11:30 at night.

It was late, far later than he liked to exercise. A power outage, caused by a lightning strike, had left the council chambers in total darkness. Several meetings were pushed back, an hour, two hours, eventually cancelled.

The storm had continued overhead, even as Ignis had been dismissed. It raged onwards into the night, rain thundering down and lightning flashing the room as he practiced with his usual choice of daggers.

He hoped it would dissipate by the time he finished, staying later and later by the hour, but to no luck. The short walk back to the citadel would be interesting, he had thought regrettably.

Still mildly out of breath, he walked back towards the changing rooms, the corridors engulfed in mostly darkness, many of the lights switched off. He assumed as such, he was alone.

He grabbed his towel from his locker in the changing room, returned his glasses to his face and thought little of the sound of rushing water he could hear coming from the showers. It wasn't until he opened the shower room door did he pause, puzzled by the sound, eyebrows furrowed in thought.

He allowed the door to click shut behind, and froze, stunned at the sight that greeted him.

In the mist and humidity of the room, water thundered down from the mouth of a lone shower head, uncontrolled, creating pools and puddles of flooding water. It's shower curtain had been ripped clean off the metal rail and draped haphazardly over the body of a man.

  
Blood mixed pink in the water.

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

In the lonely, midnight darkness of the training hall, the prince's advisor was in the process of breaking into a locked office. He was committing a crime, several at a push as he forced his elbow through shards of glass panelling. It was a move that cut him in several places and yet he hardly flinched. He took a moment to steady himself, deep breaths, utterly afraid to waste time, afraid to stop and ponder. Adrenaline eventually took the driver's seat. 

The advisor reached through the jagged gap in the glass to the lock on the other side, fumbling desperately for it, twisting and turning it one way and the other until of course, the door opened with a creak.  
He hadn't even noticed the name of the office occupant imprinted in gold on the wall beside the door he had wrecked. He tried not to think about the momentary unimportant, mere consequences he could deal with later. Such distractions proved little more than a halt. He closed his eyes once or twice, squeezed them shut, tried to calm himself, focus somehow on the task at hand. _Help was on it's way_ , he reminded himself, he had notified the correct people and wasted as little time as was humanly possible. _Everything will be fine_ , he had been told over the phone by the medic, so long as he finds some good curatives.

 _Good_ however, as the medic had described was just the tip of the problematic iceberg.

It was after hours, of course. Everything of any use in the building was locked away. Particularly expensive, _good_ curatives.

On a normal day the advisor would have had one or two to hand and yet as fate would have it, Ignis had used his last - a pitiful Potion - on the prince and a rather questionable headache that very afternoon. It was a matter that led the young advisor to empty his belongings out onto the locker room floor to check and double check for another, papers and reports everywhere but to no avail finding what he was looking for. The advisor had nothing to work with and yet he did all he could, given the circumstances.

It had been just ten minutes before when he had found the shield unconscious. Ten measly minutes of testing endurance.  
The shield was bleeding quite terribly from a head wound, trickling down into the water pouring from the abandoned shower. The advisor had all but several bath towels of which to put to some sort of use, one he wrapped around the older man's exposed body, the other he held, a little haphazardly, against the wound. Ignis knew from his training that head wounds bled the most, even the smallest of cuts could amass a great deal of blood and yet it hardly made such a mess any easier to process. With shaking hands he had cupped the shield's tilted face upon first inspection of the damage, cold to the touch, gentle not to cause further injury as he turned the wound toward his line of sight.

His stomach lurched violently as he did so.

Blood stained them both.

He struggled to consider such a notion, hoped he would never see the day it would hold form in his reality and yet, here he was, shaken and afraid, tainted with the blood of the man he cared for.

He had to find curatives, sooner rather than later, as instructed.

With tremendous struggle he had forced himself to leave Gladio's side, just the once.  
His belongings took the initial brunt of his search, despite the knowledge he had nothing of any use. The other changing rooms and various training hall offices next, seemed to be his best bet. All of which he came to discover upon frantic inspection, were locked up tight for the night.

The young advisor exhaled, shuddering as he did so. He challenged the impulse to throw his fist at something, anything. Fear as it dared, began to kick in.

A brief scan of the hallway turned up no keys, no emergency medi-kits or anything remotely helpful at all. So late at night of course, he was alone and without help, at least until the medic arrived. He took a moment to adjust his glasses, nerves getting the better of him, fingers twitching against his will. Sweat trickled down his neck.

Lightning, as it had done all evening, struck violently outside. The room lit up as it did so.

Ignis stood before an office, likely belonging to Crownsguard of some kind, grand in its structure and decor. The glass panelling in the door glimmered with adequate temptation, intact in its final moments. It was highly decorative stain glass, in keeping with the building's old aesthetic. Beautiful in the least. Suitably breakable.

  
The young advisor hesitated. His stomach churned.

Ignis knew better than to act without thinking. In all his seventeen years he rarely, if ever acted recklessly or impulsively. It was against his very nature and yet in this one, horrible instance he did act recklessly, impulsively. He took a moment to assess the glass in the panelling of the door, checked the locks were as tight as he remembered, just one more time, for good measure. _Definitely, most certainly locked out._

All in all he knew he had no choice in that moment as he put his strength to best use. It took all but a few seconds to do what he had to. He hurt himself in the process.

Glass lay smashed on the ground, crinkling under his steps as he forced his way in through the bolted office door. He'd cut himself in several places, an injury he little more than winced at.  
_It was nothing_ , he had told himself somewhere at the back of his mind, _vastly necessary in the least_. He was so sure in that fragment of time he could've cut his entire arm off and would've somehow found the will to carry on. This was after all, what he had been trained for on countless occasions. _Panic_ he had been told time and time again, could be used, harnessed as such, particularly in its means to nullify any sense of feeling, pain or injury. It seemed in this instance to be working, besides one or two hiccups. He knew in a terrible situation, perhaps years from now he would be able to use it to protect the prince, and he would, use it that is.

The young advisor swallowed uncomfortably, taking a moment to straighten up and dust himself off. This time he finally winced. The cuts on his hand and arm began to sting. For a split second he hesitated, frightened to go forward. He was bleeding after all, not terribly but enough to shock. He attempted to shake off the minor clamour of hesitation, simply wiping away the small trickle of blood on his trousers. He hardly gave notice to the tiny piece of glass lodged deep in his skin. It was something he'd deal with later. _When he had time_.

  
Ignis pushed onwards. He found the first aid kit quicker than he expected to, having pried open several drawers with a letter opener he snatched off the desk in the process. Again, he missed the little things, seldom registering the engraved initials of the King's shield on the metal instrument as he jammed it, scraped it and discarded it to one side. The curatives had priority and he considered little else in the face of things. Tomorrow there'd be time to back track and make great amends. He assumed as such, as he stole an armful of curatives in a flurry of trepidation, he'd be very busy in the morning.

Ignis left the office in its terrible state - one of many mishaps he would have to explain later to someone much bigger, more terribly important than himself - and rushed back to the shower room, following the emergency lighting as best he could in the darkness. He dared not trip.  
He only stopped when lightning struck repeatedly, flinching as it did so and almost dropping the various curatives he so nervously clung to. It was a move that led him to curse under his breath.

  
He urged his feet to move again, legs heavy and weakened in the momentary pause he had dared to allow himself. With each step back into the changing room his mind raced with anticipation, unwillingly pleading with the Six that he might find Gladio awake and sitting in the changing room, complaining about the contents of Ignis's belongings spread all over the floor, somewhat bruised and perhaps a little grumpy and disoriented, but otherwise fine, _conscious_ , as a minimum. The advisor as standard would help him, offer to take him home. Force him, perhaps, when he'd decline.

  
The changing rooms however were empty, devoid of any human life at all besides the two adjacent padlocks hanging from their respective lockers. Ignis had expected it no less, and yet it was a sight that filled the young advisor with dread.

He swallowed uncomfortably, determined to pull himself together despite how his throat tightened with the threat of raw, unfiltered emotion as he made straight for the showers. It was a clutch at straws and yet he still somehow hoped to find Gladio sitting up with a pounding headache and some killer questions to be had, but awake in the least.

Ignis opened the door with one hand, the other holding tightly onto the stolen curatives. He held back a shaking breath.

  
Gladiolus lay in the same position, pale, eyes shut, out cold on his side. A deep wound marred the side of his head, soaking the towel and bleeding into the water left behind from the shower. The torn shower curtain lay useless and forgotten in a heap to one side.

Upon his return, nothing had changed. He crouched down at his side, hesitant, frightened even as he moved the shield onto his back, gentle not to hurt him further.

Ignis winced at the sight of him.

It was difficult. Deplorable, even. The advisor had up until this moment assumed himself sufficiently educated for such a situation, should there be another full scale war, should anything happen to the prince in the event of an attack and _god only knows what else_. He was expected to be strong, to cope, to deal with any such catastrophe appropriately, as calmly as can be. He had always hoped rather foolishly, never to experience such a thing so dire.

And yet here he was, trembling and afraid, alone on the shower room floor with the body of the prince's shield.

The advisor exhaled a shuddering breath, adjusting his glasses with unsteady hands. He looked to the curatives piled up beside, modest in quantity, lacking a much needed Phoenix Down. He prayed begrudgingly to the Six as he picked up a stolen Potion, hesitant it would be enough.  
He tried at least, watching with bated breath for change, movement.

It was a million miles from perfect.  
Ignis did little more than frown, eyes drawn to the remainder of the wound. The bleeding had stopped and yet the bruising remained stark, black and blue, swollen from impact. He grasped the side of the shield's face, gentle with the brush of his fingertips over the the remnants of injury.

As gently as his fraught nerves would allow he tapped the face of the shield, several times, torn between fear of his unknown condition and that of causing further harm. Time passed without sympathy and yet the advisor waited, as best he could. He was usually full of patience, had prided himself on his ability to endure and persevere, a trait he nurtured through difficult, tiresome escapades with the prince. Ignis seldom lost composure and yet here he was, said patience buckling and withering into dust. He was a mess.  
His hand slapped a little harder, stinging the shield's cheeks pink after a time, fear overriding the little control he had left. He was sure he spoke to the shield, mumbled something incomprehensible in a flurry of blind panic, words lost on his tongue without proper thought. _Rambling_ , his uncle would call it, _speaking without thinking. Not fitting of a prince's chamberlain_.

  
Rambling or otherwise, something did the trick. A pair of eyelids twitched in sudden and unexpected movement, drawn to the sound of the familiar voice.  
Ignis stared.

He opened his mouth and closed it, nervous to miss the tiny, minuscule movements of waking consciousness. It was small but of course, it was there. The advisor lowered his hand, gently cupping the side of the shield's face.

 

" _Gladio_."

He was startled at the sound of his own voice so strained and fraught, frayed around the edges with little more than unkept emotion. Amber eyes however reacted to it, struggling but persistent to open and stare at the man before them.

Gladio opened his mouth to speak, urged to question and make sense of the situation. It faltered before words could form.  
Ignis watched, anxious as he felt the face against the palm of his hand lean ever closer. The shield closed his eyes, involuntarily losing the fight to stay awake. His mind quickly tired of trying. The younger man at his side all but faded from focus, along with the sound of his voice and the approaching of footsteps.

Ignis looked up, expecting to see the face of the female medic he had spoken to earlier on the phone.  
Instead, and perhaps more unfortunately for the young advisor, he was met by a greater, more commanding form of authority.

 

It was the King’s shield.

A strange, uncomfortable sensation churned in the pit of the young advisor’s stomach. He frowned initially, staring up nervously at the older man soaked from the rain outside and looming over with a face of thunder, stopped just several feet away.

It took Ignis a moment to pull himself together and register his thoughts into some sort of clarity. He blinked a few times, utterly hesitant.

The older shield glanced only briefly at the young advisor, turning his guarded, unreadable attention instead to the bloodied mess of his son on the floor. It was a stare Ignis knew well on the face of the younger shield, similar in a multitude of ways and yet colder, hardened, lacking the warmth of familiar amber eyes.

“Sir.” He finally spoke with struggle.

Clarus cut him off.

“What happened.” The older shield took a step closer, exhaling with some restraint. His fists balled up at his sides, a small but telling reaction to the scene before his eyes.

Ignis looked up to the cold, blue eyes flitting between him and the younger shield. He swallowed nervously.

“I-I don’t know...”

Clarus stared, lips pursed.

He looked again to the young advisor this time with a stare that lingered down to a bloodied, unwelcoming grip on the shoulder of his son, trembling somewhat, _guilt_ he presumed as the culprit. Several scuffs and cuts scattered themselves on the advisor’s hand and wrist, the presence of which caused the older man to blink harder, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. He cleared his throat in readied assumption.

  
“Get up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the worst writer’s block ever :(


	5. Chapter 5

As a young boy, Ignis had come to grace the inside of the Amicitia household only once.

It had been winter, as he remembered it, a particularly harsh winter that had played havoc with the roads and brought entire neighbourhoods to a standstill. His uncle had dressed him accordingly in a thick, slightly too big woollen coat and boots, not forgetting a fluffy, knitted scarf and bobble hat for good measure. To an outsider, he must have resembled little more than a marshmallow. To Ignis, even as the six year old that he was it was an embarrassment, particularly as he had stood in the presence of Lord Amicitia and his eldest child in such attire.

The tall, grandiose ceilings and vastly ornate Lucian decor had made little Ignis terribly nervous, uncomfortable with the lingering notion that he was in some sort of trouble.  
It was of course the doing of his uncle, a disciplinarian through and through with a fretful, sometimes overbearing nature. He had scolded the little child in his care prior to their arrival, a warning to avoid touching, playing or moving any such object in the Amicitia household, anything at all, in case _god forbid_ he should break a treasured possession or a priceless family heirloom. He had been assured, Lord Amicitia would not hesitate to give him a thorough telling off should he be so disobedient as a child guest.

Needless to say, Ignis did as he was told.  
He was seated by his uncle in a chair at the table, next to a slightly restless, excited seven year old Gladiolus, who it seemed, was desperate to play upstairs with the child guest. Ignis however sat silently, avoiding all forms of confrontation, particularly that of Lord Amicitia’s gaze for the entirety of the evening. He kept his hands neatly in his lap as he had been told to do so, nursing tremendous patience particularly when Gladiolus played on a handheld video game beside him. It was pure torture, and yet he tried desperately to be still.

In his determination he had held his breath, at least for some time, the amber eyes of the older child beside him widening as little Ignis turned white as a sheet. The adults seldom noticed anything was wrong until he eventually tumbled sideways, off the chair and into a pitiful heap on the hardwood floor.

He came to soon after in the arms of his worried uncle, a little bruise forming on his cheek where he had fallen. Lord Amicitia, despite the fearsome, terrible creature Ignis believed him to be, had warmed and softened completely, face awash with concern for the slightly tearful, disoriented child. He insisted they put him to bed, assuming over-tiredness as his condition as they took him up the spiralling stairs and into his eldest child’s bedroom.

The bed had been delightfully warm, much, much larger than his own, enticingly soft with a multitude of pillows and patchwork blankets. The men gently tucked him in and let him sleep, seldom noticing the slightly older, taller child remaining behind as they proceeded back downstairs.

Ignis slept, comfortably, more so than he had since coming to the citadel and without so much as a stir. He gave little thought to the weight on the end of the bed. Gladiolus, without question or being asked to do so, stayed by his side for the entirety of the evening.

 

Ignis had not thought of this memory for some time. The memory, as vivid in his mind’s eye as the day he lived it, brought itself to the advisor’s attention when he was asked, or rather _told_ to sit in an armchair. This armchair in particular belonged in the corner of the living room at the Amicitia household. It sat somewhat isolated from the rest of the furniture, a little more tired and neglected in appearance than the rest of the immaculate house and its contents. At the very least, Ignis had tried to assure himself, there was moderate comfort to be found in his position, be it ridiculously small. He had not been cuffed, nor hurt in any way, shape or form, when he assumed as such, he very well could have endured both. He tried very hard not to think about it.

Instead he tried to relax, a venture he was certainly not much good at even under usual circumstances. He attempted the breathing exercises he had been taught several years ago, designed to ground him in a moment of subdued weakness or paralysis... It temporarily worked, as it usually did. Ignis had not suffered an attack in many years and so he assumed as such, it could hold out for a little while, until of course, he was put to the test. The cool composure he had built carefully, painstakingly over many years all but shattered in an instant.  
A delicate, porcelain teacup and saucer had been placed in his hands - tea he hadn’t asked for - too nervous to drink it. His hands trembled, clinking the fragile object under his terrified grip.  
The Amicitia’s butler Jared wordlessly looked on with concern.

Clarus Amicitia paced back and forth the household, floorboards creaking under the weight of his boots over and over. He spoke only to Jared, hushed concern of his own, waiting it seemed for the sound of his medic Cassia coming down the spiralling staircase. She had been quite some time attending to the younger shield. Midnight had come and gone. With every passing minute ticking away on the household grandfather clock, the tension on Clarus’s face grew yet more severe. He began to struggle with the tone of his voice, Jared several times having to remind him that the youngest Amicitia, Iris, would wake up and hear. Clarus did each time manage to calm himself, if only for a short moment.

 

Ignis did his best to keep his head down. He merely focused on the rhythm of his breathing, deliberately distracted, attempting with some considerable struggle to hold off any threat of an attack. It worked for the moment.  
He attempted to finish his tea, hoping perhaps it would aid the calming of his nerves and the terrible, irrational feeling of dread bubbling away inside of him. The tea however seldom did anything at all besides distract his trembling hands from wearing a hole in the armchair fabric. He knew in the least if he did anything at all to cause further damage to Amicitia property, he was sure in the least Clarus would utterly lose the plot. _Murder_ even, a possibility.

Lord Amicitia, as he knew and cowered in the presence of, had brought him here with the intention of a statement being written. The young advisor had done so, obedient as ever and without daring to question the furious elder, he produced a page and a half of writing, pushing two pages until of course, it had been noticed by Jared that he was bleeding.

Clarus had, in that instance shown what could only be described as remorse, concerned even, knowing all too well he had been too busy shouting and throwing accusations at the young advisor to pay any heed to his injury. _The troublesome Amicitia temper had struck again_ , Ignis had realised quickly. He had experienced it first hand many a time.

The elder shield disappeared for several minutes, returning with what looked to be the household’s first aid kit and a wooden stool from the kitchen. Wordlessly he placed himself on the stool in front of the advisor, pulling it up close enough to reach, knees brushing against those of the younger. Jared stood back from the advisor’s side to allow his employer the space to work, himself blinking a little nervously as Clarus sat down so brazenly before the younger man he had previously scolded. Perhaps knowing too well of the Amicitia temper, he kept his lips pursed and said very little if anything at all.

The shield did his best to be careful, large, clumsy hands of his attempting with all his might to be gentle as he plied several remaining shards of glass. Ignis, as the shield came to notice, tried exceedingly hard to remain still, unflinching as each shard of glass was removed with painstaking precision. It took longer than he had imagined, taking the time to clean up most of the blood and apply a bandage to protect the injury from further damage.  
The advisor, somewhat disheveled and shivering by the end took a moment to thank him, returning his hands to sit neatly in his lap, big green eyes nervous in their struggle to meet those of the elder man. He refused the Potion offered to him, too modest and polite to accept, his cheeks flushing pink as Clarus administered it anyway. The advisor thanked him again, perhaps for the third or forth time.

 

It was in that instance that Clarus came to remember the little, nervous child in his home all those years ago and felt something twist and churn horribly in the pit of his stomach, a small but significant stinging of guilt. He did the only thing he could think of in the moment and made the young advisor a cup of tea.

It was an awkward, clumsy gesture. He had no idea if he even liked tea. Jared even, polite as he was, had raised a questionable eyebrow.

Ignis however accepted it, as politely and as courteously as could be.

He was not much of a tea drinker but drank what he could, fingers trembling and clinking the intricately patterned porcelain. Jared kindly took the cup and saucer from him when he had finished, waving off the politeness and thank yous that came by instinct, before of course disappearing after his employer.

As Ignis quickly came to notice, both men had departed the room and left him to his own devices, the statement no longer a stark, bloodied feature on the oak coffee table but seemingly elsewhere. Footsteps creaked on the floors upstairs above his head.

The advisor waited, patient as could be given that he was alone with his thoughts and more than aware of the conversation taking place upstairs. He was as a minimum, a little more comfortable now that he had been attended to. Clarus had done a good job despite all his fury, of which, there had been rather a lot. The young advisor’s ears were still ringing as a result.  
There had been a considerable amount of shouting, from the King’s shield that is, who had shouted more than enough for the two of them. It was of considerable surprise the furious man had any voice left at all at this point so late in the night.

The car journey over and the shouting that came with it had left the advisor positively shaken, his legs reduced to jelly as he came to find when they finally arrived outside the Amicitia household. Much to add to his embarrassment, he had struggled to stand let alone walk the few feet from the car to the front door. Jared had offered his hand and helped Ignis from the car, much to the continued frustration of the shield, who, once inside had ordered the younger man into the living room and forced him rather abruptly to sit down. Pen and paper had been thrust at him, several, uncomfortable accusations thrown in for good measure.

Ignis, despite his innocence, did as he was told. The fear of making things worse kept him in check, that and the pacing of the furious Amicitia nearby. He assumed as such the King would be informed of his whereabouts and circumstances, his uncle too, in the morning. Noctis as he imagined, would be wondering where he was. He perished the thought of his prince realising where he was and what had happened, truly, wholly despised the very notion of it. Panic worsened, as before. His stomach did somersaults. He tried hopelessly not to be sick, terrified of being a further nuisance to the King’s shield in his own home.

The house was much like how he remembered and as such did little to calm him - still terribly ornate, traditionally and tastefully Lucian with tall ceilings and a large fireplace engraved with a family crest. Antiques littered the place along with treasured family heirlooms his uncle had warned him thoroughly not to touch. The smell of pine and frankincense lingered, a scent he recognised and dreaded all at once.

 

Footsteps crossed the room upstairs.  
He was sure for a moment he heard Gladiolus speak, a severity carrying itself through the thickness of walls and floorboards. The advisor knew he shouldn’t listen and tried not to, particularly when he heard the King’s shield speak up.  
The sound of their talking echoed for some time. Questions were being asked. It seemed, Ignis thought, to be a cruel awakening for someone considerably unwell. He imagined the younger shield sat up in bed, his father furious at side with the advisor’s bloodied, somewhat rushed statement at hand, being picked apart and scrutinised. It was awful, a humiliation even and yet at the same time it was understandable and unavoidable. The matter was particularly serious. Gladiolus has been hurt, an injury Ignis had been blamed for, arrested and held accountable by none other than the King’s shield.

 

“Master Scientia.”

The young advisor flinched at the formality of his name. It was not the voice he had expected to hear. A hand gently shook him by the shoulder. Ignis, in all his embarrassment realised that he had closed his eyes, drifting off under the guise of nervous thought.  
Jared stood before him.

“My sincere apologies to wake you...you must be quite tired.”

Ignis did his best to straighten himself up from the minor slouch he had fallen in to, heat flushing his face in minor shame.

“N-no, I’m fine...”

“Are you sure?”

Jared tilted his head in adequate concern, watching as the young man brushed himself off.

Ignis swallowed a little too nervously, stifling the threat of a choke. He took a moment to clear his throat.

“I must have drifted off,” He felt somewhat flustered, adjusting the glasses that had slipped down over his nose. “I’m very sorry...”

“Do you need a moment?” Jared intervened, quieter than before. “Would you like some more tea?”

“No, no thank you,” the advisor replied far quicker than he had intended. “I’m fine, really, I’m quite alright...”

“Well then,” Jared gave a little nod. “Lord Amicitia has requested to speak with you in his study.”

Ignis hesitated. A little tightness afflicted him around his chest, small but nonetheless, very much there.

“If you will follow me.” Jared stood back to allow the younger man to stand. “Are you sure that you won’t have another drink?”

“Ah, no, thank you...”

Ignis bowed his head, meekly standing up from the tired, old armchair with a minor wobble, the room silent besides the sound of his feet steadying the wooden floor beneath him. A hand was extended to him, same as before, older eyes noticing, frowning with concern as the young advisor swayed unsteady.

“Thank you...”

It took a moment longer for the advisor to finally find the strength to steady himself, flustered by the notion of his summoning and equally it seemed, by the kindness of the household butler, who treated him with the utmost respect of a guest. Ignis, despite his innocence, felt it unnecessary.

He did his best to gather what he had left of his composure and followed the elder man out of the room and through the vastness of the house, straight to a grand, intricately engraved oak door at the end of the hallway. It was beautiful, not too dissimilar to the one he had destroyed only hours earlier. Lord Amicitia, Ignis came to realise, had an interest in a particular Lucian period of history from several hundred years ago, the style highly intricate, refined and rare to find, antiques from the period usually worth a small fortune or more. _A fortune only if still intact_ , a little voice cared to speak up, daring to stoke the ember of panic burning away inside of him.

Ignis, as he tried, took a shuddering breath.

Jared knocked twice on his behalf, quiet not to awake the youngest Amicitia upstairs. The door nonetheless echoed, billowing out into the vastness of the hallway with a crescendo. A chair on the other side scuffed along a wooden floor.

“Come in.”

Jared politely opened the door for the young advisor.  
Perhaps sensing the tension of the younger man in his acquaintance he entered first, a calming demeanour following with him. Ignis hoped, perhaps the elder man knew how to handle the Amicitia for the better, better than he or anyone else for that matter. He worried into his lower lip nervously at the thought, anticipating the worst.

“Master Scientia to see you, my lord.”

Jared gestured to the young man at his side.

The Amicitia standing beside his desk gave a small, wordless nod. He took a final sip of the tea at hand, no doubt preparing himself mentally for the conversation he had planned to have with the young man. Neither said a word as he finished his tea silently, sighing with finality as he placed the now empty porcelain cup back onto the saucer at his desk. A bloodied statement sat alongside it.

“Thank you, Jared. That will be all.” He replied calmly, eyes shifting from the butler to the advisor at his side. “Ignis, come in please.”

Jared politely ushered the advisor inwards, a hand at the small of his back with a little nudge of encouragement. The door shut behind him with a final clunk.

Ignis stood, waiting with eyes averted from the man before him, teeth continually worrying into his lower lip. He had hardly noticed the sting until a flicker of metallic crept into his mouth.

 

Clarus indicated to a chair pulled up in front of his desk.

“Sit.” He spoke with an abruptness, eyes scrutinising the young man. “Please.”

“Thank you.” The advisor kicked himself into motion with a nod. He sat down stiffly.

Much like the rest of the house, the room was vast, beautifully and traditionally decorated. Tall bookcases lined the edges of the room, books stacked high from floor to ceiling, the King’s shield, much like his eldest child, a prolific reader. The window behind the desk at the centre of the room followed much a similar style to the one destroyed at the training hall, much larger in size but of colour stain glass in a familiar pattern. Rain beat down hard upon it.

Ignis shivered, worse so as a silhouette loomed over. Heavy footsteps creaked the floorboards beneath them.

He forced himself to meet the blue stare of eyes upon him, Lord Amicitia somehow, dare he say it _calmer_ than before, perhaps wilfully imagined but at least no longer shouting or accusing of him. It was disconcerting, a sort of unsettling calm before the inevitable storm that left his heart jolting wildly with palpitation in his chest. He realised with dismay, much as he had as a child, he was holding his breath. He hoped the shield wouldn’t notice or pay any attention to it, at least until he managed to pull himself together and force his lungs to open.

But as fate would have it, the shield had eyes as sharp as his memory and _did_ notice, almost immediately. He frowned, opening and closing his mouth several times with words he had planned to say but suddenly lost on his tongue. He blinked several times, drawn to the small, occasional rise and fall of the young man’s chest, stifled, pale, much the same as before all those years ago.

“Ignis...” With a finality he exhaled, shoulders slumping as he did so.

“Please try to relax, if you can.” Clarus finally spoke up, a tiredness dulling the command of his voice. “You are going to have to breathe if you so wish to have this conversation with me.”

He noted the rush of colour to the younger man’s face, eyes averted down at his lap.

“Sir, I...”

Clarus silenced him with a dismissive wave of the hand.

“Calm yourself.” He assured the younger man, lowering his voice. “Can’t have you toppling off your chair again now, can we.”

The advisor managed to swallow, nerves twisting tightly inside of him as the Amicitia spoke.

“No, sir...” he managed to speak, almost inaudible, lungs tightening ever so slightly as he forced himself to breathe.

The shield watched him for a moment, concern flooding his face as it had done so all those years ago, uncertain, frightened to make things catastrophically worse. He knew from experience he was significantly better at the latter.

“You’re not in any trouble Ignis, not now.” He murmured, nervously being watched by the younger man. “Please be calm.”

“Yes sir.”

Perhaps with some continued hesitance, he briefly looked to Ignis’s statement piled up on the desk beside him, eyebrows again furrowed in thought. He rubbed his eyes with a groan, bloodshot and dreary from the late hour of the night.

“You must be very tired, I apologise for keeping you here so late, particularly after all you have done...” He continued with sincerity, eyes returning to the young man before him. “It was wholly unnecessary. I’m very sorry.”

 

Ignis did little more than blink several times, puzzled in the least at the change in tone, the lack of anger or fury thrown at him.  
It took a moment longer for the words spoken at him to digest, concerned he had misheard or simply imagined them.

 

“Sir...”

“Gladiolus believes he may have slipped. In the shower, that is.” The shield interrupted, meeting the nervous green eyes before him. “He assures me that you played no involvement, beside helping him.”

The advisor merely nodded, sighing somewhat.

“He is very grateful for your assistance, Ignis.” The shield bowed his head respectfully. “Although I am sure Gladiolus will want to tell you himself, when he is feeling better.”

Ignis swallowed hard.

“I assumed he would not remember...”

Clarus shrugged his shoulders, exhaling as he did so.

“He remembers a great deal, I think.”

The advisor hesitated, recalling his actions, forgetful of words spoken and choices made in the heat of the moment. It had been such a short time ago, only hours, and yet so quickly it had muddled. He realised as he thought, he had been clenching his fists in his lap and unclenched them, flexing away the tension in his slim fingers. Sore, red crescents marred the skin of his palms.

“Is he...” Ignis managed to utter, taking a moment to breathe carefully. “I assume Gladiolus is awake?”

Clarus nodded, concern flooding his tired features.

“Concussed but awake, yes.” The elder man replied, quieter than before. “He is a little out of it, I’m afraid.”

“Ah...” the advisor nodded, averting his eyes down to his lap. “I see...he must be feeling rather unwell...”

“He’ll be alright.”

Clarus tried his best to smile, if a little weakly.

“Gladiolus gets himself into all sorts.” He exhaled again, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. “It isn’t the first time Cassia has seen to him with concussion, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. I’m grateful at least you were there to take care of him.”

The advisor bowed his head modestly, aware of the elder’s eyes falling over the injured arm in his lap.

“You did the correct thing, Ignis, be it unfortunate...”

The shield tried with some hesitance to smile again, hoping he looked like the kind father he felt he was, rather than the Behemoth he often had been made out to be. He had no idea if it worked in this instance, particularly as they were interrupted by the door knocking behind them.

Clarus took a moment to clear his throat, eyes briefly looking to his wristwatch.

 

“Come in, Jared.”

The door, old as it was, creaked on its hinges to reveal the Amicitia butler once more standing in the doorway. He bowed his head modestly with a smile.

“Pardon my intrusion,” He spoke politely, looking to both men in the room. “Gladiolus has requested to speak with Master Scientia.”

“At this hour?” Clarus asked, seldom noticing the little twitch on the advisor’s face.

“Yes, my Lord. He is out of bed.”

“Is something the matter?” The shield scrubbed at his jaw, tiredness lapping at the edge of his concern. “He has enough curatives up there surely?”

His eyes again flitted to the ungodly hour on his wristwatch, before returning back to his butler.

“There are plenty of curatives in his room and as such there is no matter, my Lord, however might I add he does appear to be pacing the upstairs.”

 

The advisor swallowed nervously. He looked to the King’s shield, the elder man frowning harder than before in thought as he finally stood up straight from his slouch against the desk.

“Ignis,” The advisor looked up to meet the blue eyes upon him.

“Yes, sir.” He straightened up in his seat at the sound of his name, hands twisting the fabric of his trousers with a tension he couldn’t quite comprehend.

The King’s shield took a step towards him, lowering his voice as he spoke.

“If you would rather, it can wait until morning,” Clarus assured him, oblivious. “Assuming you are comfortable in our guest room for the night.”

Heat rushed to the advisor’s face. He lowered his head politely, something close to another bow.

“No, sir, I...”

“I can take you back to the citadel if you would prefer, Ignis.” The shield confirmed with a firm nod.

Ignis adjusted his glasses with an unsteady hand, hesitant to progress further. He pushed them further up the bridge of his nose and swallowed down the tightening feeling in his throat.

“I would like to speak with Gladiolus. Tonight, if you don’t mind.”

The shield paused momentarily, looking the younger man up and down in his chair before giving a little nod.

“Are you quite sure?”

Ignis nodded.

“Yes.” He felt his heartbeat pick up a pace in his chest.

“Well then, if you’re more than willing...”

The shield looked to Jared standing patiently in the doorway.

“Please take Ignis to Gladiolus’s room.” He asked, receiving a nod in return from the elder man. “Bring them some tea, if you will. I’m sure they have much to discuss.”

 

* * *

 

 The bedroom of the eldest Amicitia child had changed very little, if at all, in the entirety of its occupant’s eighteen years. Much of the original features in the room had endured the course of time, the dark green walls and the slightly uneven wooden floorboards more or less unchanged since the advisor’s last visit.

The wrought iron framed bed he had slept in for one night as a child remained central to the space, a bedside table and a lamp placed alongside. Several, worn out novels of varying genres had been somewhat neatly piled up, neat at least by the shield’s standards, no doubt read a thousand times.

It was much like Ignis remembered it, unaffected and unchanged by the years past.

Gladiolus however, had changed, rather a lot, particularly in the last two years. The form of his large silhouette sat on the edge of the bed, hunched over with hands on his knees, looking up at the sound of his bedroom door creaking open. A sense of relief lapped at the tension in his muscles.

He had been waiting far too long for the reassurance of familiar footsteps, listening with fearful impatience to the sounds of his father’s raised voice as it carried far up the stairs, reverberating all four walls of his bedroom.  
From his own experience he wouldn’t wish his father’s temper on anyone and yet here he was, eyes fixed upon Ignis Scientia standing in his doorway, pale and shaken.

Fists balled up at his sides, he felt something break with a tremendous shatter inside him.

Initially Gladiolus said nothing, no greeting at all, utterly wordless and unreadable as he stared with guarded, amber eyes at the younger man. He waited until the door clicked shut quietly behind him before he raised himself from his position, crossing the room in a mere number of strides.

The advisor quickly looked up to meet the approaching man, oblivious, fingers awkwardly bumping his glasses up his brow as he did so.  
He opened his mouth to speak, to urge the shield to take care and get back into bed, but was cut off and spoken over.

“Come here.” A pair of larger, calloused hands retrieved his own.

Ignis froze on impact, backed somewhat into the closed door behind him.

He had of course been spoken to, rather insistently. He knew he would have to reply and make sense of the words, sooner rather than later, if judging by the fretful expression on the shield’s face.  
It took the advisor several moments to answer, brain short circuiting as he was fussed over, tight hands gripping his own, possessive and protective all at once. He stammered with words and averted his stare down, away from the face of the older man before him, so close, _too_ close to his own.

“I’d appreciate if you could...” Blood rushed to his face. “You shouldn’t-“

“Are you hurt?” Amber eyes scrutinised and inspected the damage under grip. “Did dad hurt you?”

“Of course not-“ He attempted to remove his hands, twist them out of the other’s grip. “Don’t be so foolish..”

Gladiolus only pulled him closer.

“Are you sure??” Worry lines carved themselves between the shield’s brows as his gaze swept up and down Ignis’s form. “My Dad he...I know what he can be like...”

As he moved, the side of his head caught the fragile light of the bedside lamp. A dark, frightful bruise marred him, worse than the advisor had remembered.  
Ignis swallowed past the lump in his throat, an expectant stare upon him waiting for his answer.

“I’m fine, Gladio, really,” He replied a little shakily, forcing a calmness within him. “I was worried about you.”

He bit his lower lip, struggling to cope another moment longer under the grip of the older man. An uncontrollable heat tinged the edge of his cheeks.

“You’re shaking,” the shield huffed, tightening the hold on the limbs in his hands. “You’re not alright...”

Perhaps there was considerable truth in the shield’s observations, as he stood there reading the younger man like a book, visibly upset, drained even, a little tremble in his limbs as he was held. The advisor would deny it and anything else that threatened to tear down the walls he had built around himself, as he always did, frightened to reveal the extent of emotion beneath the surface of his guarded exterior. This time however Gladiolus did not allow him this luxury. He acted on impulse, pushed over the edge by the raw vulnerability of the younger man under his grip, guilt slicing at the fine strings of his own composure and ability to control himself.  
He pulled Ignis all the more closer, his slender feet unexpectedly stumbling at the sudden movement. The advisor clambered over the larger feet beneath his own, tripping and staggering into the arms of the shield. His face collided with a shoulder, glasses skewed. A little gasp of air escaping his mouth with embarrassment.

He froze.

“I-I...”

The shield did not shrug him off nor push him away as he had expected him to do instantly, assuming he would be repulsed, disgusted even to be so close.  
Instead Gladiolus merely stood there, breathing steadily, hands still gripping tightly, tighter even perhaps than before.

Ignis shivered, little more than opening and closing his mouth several times. He attempted and struggled to find the words to say, to correct himself and save them both from the embarrassment. He knew he should apologise profusely for his clumsiness and should excuse himself, leave before getting a punch like he felt he deserved.

Instead however, what happened changed everything.

An arm of the shield slipped over and around his narrow waist, the other gently finding its way to the back of his neck, softer, with more care than before. Warmth enveloped the younger man, overwhelming, protective warmth exuding from the chest he dared cling to.

Despite the sheer drill of alarm bells ringing in his ears and the adrenaline urging him to let go and back off before the inevitable rejection, Ignis blanked everything out. He ignored the unspoken words on the tip of his tongue, words he had planned to say to excuse himself. He did little more than exhale, shoulders slumping as he did so, long, unfamiliar fingers finding their way into his hair with a gentle, comforting grip.

Without discussion nor judgement, the shield held him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for being so slow and terrible with updates, I have no idea if anyone is still around to read this ahh...
> 
> Either way, things should start moving a bit more swiftly from here on out if you catch my drift....


	6. Chapter 6

It had been a very long time since the shield had thought about a particular memory of Ignis in his childhood. It was fleeting, a little blurry in the midst of his concussion; he simply hadn’t thought of it in years until by miraculous chance they happened to be together, sat down awkwardly on the edge of his bed.

  
In the memory it was night, not too dissimilar from the present time besides the coldness of winter. Despite Lord Clarus Amicitia and Eli Scientia’s best intentions to create an amicable meeting of the two children in their care, it had been quite the awkward encounter. Neither child particularly conversed well; rather, a seven year old Gladiolus spent much of the evening talking _at_ his child guest, smiling wildly at him and thrusting video games in his general direction in the hope of a friendship. With any other ordinary child it would no doubt have worked wonderfully, however Eli’s nephew was far removed from what most would consider _ordinary_ , already fluent in several languages and reading books for children more than twice his age. The boy was in the least different, remarkably so, to put it politely, more so than any other child Gladio had ever met.  
Ignis Scientia, a serious, bespectacled six year old at the time had yet to speak more than a few words in the presence of the Amicitia boy, his green eyes nervously drawn down at his lap for the several hours he sat there.  
He had minimal experience of speaking with other children his own age, his days at the citadel confined to private tutoring and reading storybooks to the four year old prince. To be put in front of an excitable, babbling seven year old such as Gladiolus Amicitia had its limits.

In the end, it was all far too much for little Ignis, who, after considerable effort to remain quiet and obedient at his uncle’s side, had wobbled sideways and fallen from his chair at the table.  
The adults, amidst their discussion over whisky had leapt out of their seats when they realised, wide eyed and concerned. Eli, being the fretful individual that he was made a terrible fuss over the bruise forming on his young nephew’s face. His raised voice, not directed at anybody in particular but alarmed nonetheless did little to comfort the child in his arms, rather it made things much, much worse.  
Gladiolus remembered it well, particularly the shrillness in his tone. He recalled himself frowning up at the older man, as if it would have some sort of effect on him to make him stop and notice the distress he was causing to his nephew, and to him. He knew it was rude to stare and yet he did so anyway, eyes drawn uncomfortably to the distressed face of little Ignis, the guest he was supposed to amuse and befriend, who rather unfortunately by this point had started to cry.

Clarus, a man with considerably more experience of children than Eli, did his best to comfort the tearful child with the suggestion they put him to bed. _The bruise would likely be gone in a day or two_ as he put it so calmly, perhaps for Eli’s sake, _nothing in the least to worry about_.  
The man in question blinked a few times, anxious and flustered by the tearful child in his care, as he so often was. He was hesitant to agree, eyes flitting nervously over his nephew as he held him, eventually and with some reluctance nodding in agreement. He allowed himself to be led by Clarus out of the dining room and up the spiralling staircase in the hallway, both adults seemingly unaware of the slightly older child following several steps behind.

Gladiolus followed by choice of his own, curious of the very serious, bespectacled child his father had placed in his bedroom for the night. He watched the two men tuck him into his bed, Eli switching off the bedside lamp and reminding his nephew to go straight to sleep and to avoid causing any more trouble. Ignis had nodded silently and tried very hard to do exactly as he was told, eyes shut tight, even after both adults left him alone in the darkness with the Amicitia boy.

He remembered clearly now, just how very small Ignis had looked wrapped up amidst his pillows and duvet, still a little tearful and upset from his fall. Perhaps he had felt that some part of this was his fault, but Gladio found himself feeling rather sad for the boy he had wanted to be friends with. He decided it would be best to put a blanket around the little boy’s shoulders, a treasured, patchwork blanket made by his mother some years before. Ignis hardly stirred, only opening his eyes for a moment when the bed dipped under the weight of little knees at his side. He had stared at the older child now sat beside him, big, green eyes glimmering in the dark for several, prolonged moments before he closed them again. Ignis slept soundly after that.

In the present time, their relationship fared a far more complicated nature. They sat together, at least somewhat content with one another’s presence in the silence of the Amicitia household. Both men were tired, tired enough they ought to have retired to sleep. In a brief moment of fatigue and minor misjudgement, the advisor rest his head on the other’s shoulder, weary eyes drifting shut. He hadn’t meant to do such a thing, so tired and dreary from the night’s events he had acted without careful consideration or thought.

  
Gladiolus blinked several times, eyebrows furrowed in confusion to the sudden weight against his shoulder. He turned to look at the sleeping advisor now against him, his glasses slipped slightly over his nose. A jolt trembled through his chest to find him there, a sort of warm, fuzzy feeling he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a very long time.  
He sighed, shoulders slumping as he did so.

The shield was gentle, careful not to wake the younger man as he lowered him backwards against the pillows and removed his spectacles, placing them out of harm’s way on the bedside table.  
He retrieved the patchwork blanket folded neatly at the foot of his bed and placed it over him, the same blanket he realised fondly, from before in his memory. It was a little old and frayed around the edges but at least, Gladio thought, it would keep him warm, just like before.

As the shield sat back on the bed, a small smile gracing his features where a frown would usually sit, he realised the sleeping face of the advisor was, well, no longer sleeping. He was being watched. A slightly disorientated Ignis frowned at him sleepily, his nose wrinkling in confusion at the man staring down at him with wide, amber eyes. He was, as Gladio came to realise, not truly awake at all as he mumbled something about Noctis and the oven being left on. No sooner had he opened his eyes did they drift shut again, his chest rising and falling with the slowness of sleep.

  
Gladiolus watched him for a time. His head ached terribly with concussion, a warning that he should give up and go to sleep but still he remained there, frozen to the spot. It was difficult to stop, years of denying all want now pent up into a single moment. He knew he shouldn’t and yet, faced with his innermost desire he was reduced to nothing.  
Each hour of night passed by in a haze, slow and fast all at once. Darkness had its way of doing such things, playing tricks on the mind. The shield, in a mist of tiredness soon lost track of time.  
The advisor, so often restless in his sleep failed to stir at all, so deep in his sleep he hardly felt the sensation of being held, the hand gracing his jaw and neck, nor the calloused fingers tracing the shape of his mouth, over and over.

Ignis slept peacefully, so very unaware of the older man at his side who longed for him, year after year with terrible affliction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am horribly ashamed by how long it took to write this chapter....it’s hard to believe it has been written at least ten times, changed directions and plots, been halved in length and all sorts...in the end, this is the only part of it I felt I could post that wasn’t truly terrible.
> 
> I’m sorry :(


End file.
